Fading Heart
by DefyingDeath222
Summary: After the Botfa, Legolas' unrequited love for Tauriel proves to be his downfall. Strider, a distraction, gives him a reason to face the past. Will friendship arise as promised? Will he resolve the bitterness with his Adar in the process? Through faulty unknown by many of his kind, what will the Prince's outcome be? Only time may tell.
1. Chapter 1

**My first fanfic**

**Disclaimer: All thoughts, writing, and credit go to other authors who have inspired me to write this. Characters, events, and places belong to the amazing J.R.R Tolkien; I am merely borrowing. Thanks.**

**CHAPTER 1: FOND FAREWELL**

Much I have seen and known, —cities of men

The drunk delight of battle with my kin

Far on the ringing plain of Erebor

I am part of all that I have met

Though here at war's end I lie

Only my heart, only my heart responds

Beyond sadness

The cold descended upon the two elves. Legolas and King Thranduil stood apart, motionless, surrounded by cold walls and the ruins of an old fortress.

"I, cannot go back," Legolas said sadly, blankly fixed his eyes on the opposite wall.

_Betrayal_.

The envy of Tauriel's misplaced heart caused his stomach to twist into a thousand knots, a different type of suffering than he was used to. And he knew chance of recovery was forlorn.

**oOo**

The slender silhouette of the younger elf caught the attention of Thranduil, ruler of the Woodland Realm. Behind the Legolas's eyes lay a lifeless glint that rivaled frosted glass. O, but at least his son was _safe_... It was all that mattered, and all was good now that he could confirm that his son had escaped the battle unscathed.

A sigh of relief escaped him, but he collected himself quickly. He masked his emotions behind his icy gaze, and bottled them up. He pushed them away, _far_ away.

"And where will you go, Legolas?" He whispered softly. The words felt strange under his tongue, and his heart clenched in response.

"I do not know."

"Go to the North. Find the Dunedaîn," he ordered. "There is a young ranger amongst them. You should meet him. His father, Arathorn, was a good man – his eyes narrowed – and he might turn out to be an even greater one."

"What is his name?" Legolas asked, averting his eyes.

"He is known in the wild as Strider. His true name... You must discover for yourself."

Legolas nodded and whispered a slow parting: "Until I see you again. Farewell—father."

As his son made to walk away, he stopped him with a stern: "Halt." Legolas halted. "Before you depart... your mother loved you very much." As though reciting a poem, he said the phrase with grace and meaning. However, he had not anticipated his throat to cork shut or tears to spring beneath his closed eyelids.

Legolas raised a hand over his heart.

_Don't go, I love you so_, Thranduil repeated consistently in his mind. The chant hammered against the sides of his skull over and over again. He opened his mouth partway to utter his mind aloud—

But found he could not.

A heavy silence reigned, but was broken as he raised a hand to his own heart in effort to return the loving exchange. Legolas reached out, eyes filled with an obvious sadness, and then pivoted on his heels to continue walking. His footfalls grew fainter and fainter against the stone floor until silence once again hung about the air like a curse.

_Goodbye. Perhaps I will see you soon. __Perhaps not, _Thranduil thought sadly_. _If his heart was breaking he could only imagine what his son must be feeling._ Just the same, I wish you well..._

_My Little Greenleaf._

**oOo**

Beautiful snowflakes descended softly upon the vast plain under Erebor. This delicate appearance, however, went unnoticed by the survivors; and failed to rival the splendor of a hard-won victory. As the frost cascaded deftly unto their skin, all that was felt was its' icy sting. The white blanket made it difficult to search for fallen brothers and it nipped at their faces. It seemed to promise that this was not a dream, but the reality of war.

With the battle of the five armies at its end, the devastation of it was clear. Bodies littered the ground; it carpeted the field. Whether they were Orc, Men, Elves, Dwarves, or Goblin, it truly was a horrific sight to behold.

Legolas did not look behind, only ahead, and with one glance outside a blast of chilly wind greeted him, polishing his cheekbones. He grimaced. The sight of what had befallen below the mountain was devastating. Such destruction – greed the reason – should not be.

But it was so.

_"Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath," _he said in lament.

Brushing a piece of hair that had fallen between his eyes, he sighed, the breathy sound a tune in itself. O how he ached. Physically, he was slightly winded from his combat with Bolg whilst protecting Tauriel, but the bitter feelings of the memory gnawed at his insides. It mattered not, not now anyway. He cast them aside as if they were garments he did not choose to wear.

At once, he glided down the ice, and made his way down the icy slope to where he had seen Thorin Oakenshield's fall. _Had death claimed him?_ Yes, his eyesight was keen, but he hoped that it was a ruse; for he was good-hearted, and death (although he would not admit it), frightened him. Especially the fate of the Mountain King.

As he approached the limp figure, the ghastly sight of the Dwarf lord became clearer. _Ah_, _so it was truth._ The king's muddled clothing was bloodstained and had painted the ice red. He was pale – much too pale that it reflected the ice he lay upon.

His eyes washed over another figure beside Thorin.

Poor Bilbo. The hobbit lay sniffling, clutching Thorin's arm much too tight as if the king would vanish to dust. Legolas sighed, and threaded his hair in distraction. Bilbo seemed like the one to have an open heart for _friends_. It was beyond astonishing that this low, insignificant creature could manage to slip under Mirkwood's finest security, leading to the company's escape.

The vague memory had been an insult, for his father's fortress was superiorly defensed and such an incident had not occured in more than a millenia. Following thereafter, the King had not taken the news lightly, burning in silent ire before doubting Legolas's ability to contain them. Even now, how had the Hobbit pulled off such a trick?

He leapt on a ledge opposite Bilbo's crouched position.

"_Man le trasta, Bilbo?_ Is your heart at peace?" He said.

His smooth voice snapped Bilbo out of his silent mourning. After several seconds of collection, Bilbo answered with a squeaky: "Can you not see around you?" The hobbit's shoulders sagged even further. "Most of my friends walk with the dead now and Thorin... It is rather obvious inn'it?"

Bilbo made a tiny choking noise that Legolas could not comprehend making him doubt whether he was helping or making things worse; for he knew naught of death, never experiencing the outcome of losing a loved one before.

"Do as you will," Legolas replied, then turned away.

"H-Halt," Bilbo called. Legolas turned and mirrored his father's frosted gaze. The hobbit swallowed. "I mean, please. Please wait."

Legolas stopped gelid as a shaky hand found his arm. His first instinct was to remove it, but his consideration kept him from being disrespectful.

"—Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," the hobbit continued, "but grief has taken a toll on my personality." Bilbo flashed a broken smile.

"It's quite alright," Legolas said cheerily, and mustered the most gentlest smile he could manage. However, he avoided eye contact. Expressing emotions was rare, barely revealing any himself other than the cheery mask he wore from time to time.

Legolas observed as Bilbo's eyes washed over him, studying his own unwavering features. White frost had collected on his eyelashes, no doubt appearing to the hobbit as utterly divine in comparison to his muscular body, (he had been told this not many winters ago from his father).

"Um, well... I just wanted to know if..." Bilbo coughed loudly and rocked on his heels.

"Yes?" Legolas pressed.

"There is something bothering you as well isn't there?" Bilbo said tentatively. "I'm not much but I could listen. As you are the son of Thranduil, I respect your privacy."

Legolas knew he had to give some sort of answer, but a lie would not suffice. Yet, how could he explain the the things that gyrated in his mind? That the whenever he pictured the flowing breeze he saw Tauriel's crimson hair wallowing in timely rhythm? And then there was the Dwarf who had stolen—

"Master elf?"

"Aye, it seems you give me no choice, Baggins of the Shire," Legolas said with faint amusement. He bowed his head in respect. "My heart walks in mist and shadows, for a feeling I have never felt before has seized it."

At this, he hid his eyes behind his tousled hair. _At least some truth lies in this phrase_, he thought. He had never felt the way he did before now. Tauriel's betrayal haunted him, cursed him, caused memories shared to burn to ashes.

Bilbo merely stared back. He knew naught what terrible turmoil and jealousy riddled the elf's mind.

Feeling out of place, he gave Bilbo a jerked nod. He thought it wise to carry out his fathers orders. Pulling back his long, tussled hair to revert it to its original form, he leapt down. But as Bilbo's eyes left him, Legolas hid behind an icy stone. From his position he heard someone familiar utter a low: "What a stubborn elf Legolas can be sometimes."

He scowled at this from behind his eavesdropping place then resumed observing.

A startled Bilbo turned quickly, only to be face to face with the Wizard. His grey robe held no stains, but his wrinkled face was etched with grime and scratches.

"It looks as though Mirkwood's Prince has inherited his audacious behavior from his father," Gandalf said absently – Legolas frowned.

"Gandalf!" Bilbo exclaimed, face brightening. "You nearly startled me to death!" Reassurance pulsated through his light actions at once, the appearance of his dear friend the cause. "Um, shall we... sit?" Bilbo offered. As if the remembrance of the King Under the Mountain had surged once again, grief streaked across his face.

"It is odd how memory and love can destroy you so," he heard Bilbo croak. The words tumbled in the way the hobbit worded it, and shook as if he were trying to hold back tears.

Gandalf lightly patted Bilbo on the back. "Indeed, but it is how you cope with it that matters whether it's moving on and finding another to ease the pain, but never looking behind.

Leaving the conversation here, Legolas continued down the mountain. In the distance, The Lonely Mountain towered like a giant across the demolished plains of Erebor. It truly was lonely. He had a feeling Gandalf knew he was listening, and it was not until many years later did he realize he wanted him to hear every word he said.

**oOo**

He reached the frost covered ground with a soft _thump_. The distinct cries of mourning had drowned out the cheering of victory.

_The sound of sorrow is not one I wish to hear nor ever in my long life_, he thought sadly. He knew this statement was false, however. As a prince, he had duties to carry out as best as he could afford, for he lived to obey and tend to his king's every command. But his heart?

_It is the one thing my father holds no control over_, he remembered. The promise he had announced, he would keep.

Apathetically, he gave a small glance to where he had last seen Tauriel and the dwarf scum that she proclaimed as her long-lasting love. He had fought for her, protected her, stood up for her, and what had she returned? That her heart lay with another. A Dwarf.

"Elves usually only love once," he muttered bitterly.

Suddenly, as if he had plunged into icy depths, his heart throbbed. In one swift motion, an explosion of pain shot everywhere throughout his everything, as if he had been stabbed by a thousand knives at once. He clenched his hands over his heaving chest in response. Wondering whether he was actually aflame or whether anyone noticed, ebbed the pain lightly. Yet... he knew exactly why his technique and grace faltered, but the thought of it had never once crossed his mind in the past.

_O Valar, please let this not be so!_

He stumbled like a clumsy troll, reaching for anything to steady himself with. He stifled a gasp as he slipped on a sheet of fresh ice. _Slipped_. Reflexes taking shape, he twisted in midair, making hard contact with the cold earth, one knee out to avoid landing awkwardly. Landing in perfect form, his breath was stolen once again. The ringing in his ears gradually ceased their jeering tune, and he cautiously looked around.

The vast plain was just as it was several moments past.

At least no one was around to witness his carelessness. If anything, he was more irritated and uneasy with his unexpected flaw.

He relaxed. Instead of his usual musing, he spectacled that winters' chill seemed to be affecting his sense of balance – nothing more. He quickly got to his feet, crunching the sliver of ice covering the plain. More of his dignity was wounded than anything. In slight shame, he remembered his task, ignoring the decreasing pain in his chest.

Strider? Who was this Strider? An elf? A _dwarf_? He shuddered.

Gliding over the bloodstained snow in search of his beloved steed, his pace hastened. Out of ignorance or embarrassment, he knew not.

This weakness troubled him deeply; failing to carry on was not an option. He despised vulnerability and would rather die before admitting he was a fragile being. Nay. Such a thing was beyond imaginary. He was a seasoned warrior, not a porcelain doll, and should never be treated as such!

A distinct pain in his abdomen brought him back down to reality however, disintegrating his usual thoughts of duty. He groaned at the twinge of pain, and held a hand over his chest instinctively. He was emotionless, incapable to love other than the trees of home. And Tauriel - Tauriel held naught for him, other than simply a companion or _mellon _(friend).

_Is this why these memories plague me?_

A sharp flare erupted from the side of his chest, and the answer was clear. Taking deep breaths, his breath hitched in his lungs. He sighed and thought: _This Strider better be worth the time and pain I am burdened with._

And in a flash of gold and green, he made his way toward toward Dale.

* * *

Man le trasta - What troubles you

Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath - May they find peace after death


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: MANY PARTINGS**

Thranduil walked in the complete opposite direction of his son. _Although I do not show it, I will miss thee dearly, _he thought sadly_. _He tilted his head a little, wondering why he had revealed a bit of his past. _It matters little_, he convinced himself, but what had compelled him to resort to such action?

Pushing it away, he spun, long silken hair sliding against his stainless steel armour. He had much more important things to attend to rather than linger on such things.

At the sound of intense weeping, he listened half-heartedly, knowing immediately who emanated the accursed sound, and bite his tongue in response. Finally making the decision to follow, he headed there

What he found was all too predictable. Tauriel was half-sprawled with longing across the fallen Dwarf he knew all too well (Kili he had been called if he had remembered correctly from Feren). Her face was filled with the scars of battle and her once well-kept warrior outfit held bloodstains, not fit for a Woodland Captain. Either she did not care or was too broken to notice the king's grand entrance; and she sobbed as if the fires of Mordor scorched her as she lay.

"Tauriel..." Thranduil started. He could not finish. Within him, his mind surged with horrible memories he had thought to be deceased. The two beings mirrored the past, the terrible, grotesque past of his only love slipping away to madness... and then _death_.

_He was holding his wife's trembling hand. He was pulling her close. He had wanted to feel the warmth of her body, her existence that he had cherished every moment. He had looked into those shimmering clear pools of eyes, like the beloved river of their kingdom._

_"M-My King." Her trembling hands quivered in his. "Let me go—I am so tired, so tired."_

_He remembered her last sigh of breath and that his eyes were closed, head bent down in sorrow. "Last words for me are folly, for your spirit lives on," he had said._

_"Legolas," she had said softly. That name. Her last word—_

"They wish to bury him," someone far away said. The image of Tauriel's fiery hair came into view. Her face had turned bleak with defeat, and the insides of her palms were white from clutching the talisman.

"Yes," he said absently. _He was here, not Gundabad, not there, not that wretched stronghold._

"Why does it hurt so much?" She whimpered sarcastically. Her fingers stroked Kili's cold ones. Locking them in hers, she looked away as though not expecting a response.

Still trapped in another place, another time, Thranduil pushed the horrible memory away with difficulty. "Because it was real," he said.

Cocking his head to one side, his mind was riddled with confusion as to why he uttered the strange, simple words. When did that spill from his mouth? Not wanting to enrage the warrior even further, he pursed his lips shut. Tauriel merely returned one last miserable look before kissing Kili lightly on his lifeless lips.

Thranduil hid a half-hearted smirk. Look at where love always ended: _at the brink of death._

**oOo**

Legolas tailed the rejoicing men of Dale. He wished to locate Bard, their savior and king. Yet, his treading over the battlefield took his breath away. From far atop the mountaintop the massacre did not seem to be this great in number. Now, it was horrid. The stench of blood caused him to gag, but he remained cool and collect, prideful in how his kin had fought for their king till the end.

One man, a Bowman going by his calloused hands, with dark scraggly brown hair and war-ridden clothing was clinging to his three young children. Finally. The Bowman's strong desire to keep his family safe warmed his heart, and he padded toward him. He had found the man he had been searching for.

"Da? The person who rescued us at Laketown is approaching. Is it faery-folk?" Tilda whispered, trying to contain a broken smile. Catching the innocent question, Legolas shot her a grin. The child smiled back longingly, as if she hadn't seen such grace in a long time.

Legolas introduced himself: "It is I, the Prince of Mirkwood, merely an acquaintance of your father. _Savo 'lass a lalaith_, for it is over young ones."

The children grew silent, unable to understand the strange melodic speech, but oddly comforted. The oldest, a young woman, put a comforting hand around both her younger siblings. "Da, we will leave you now to tend to your business." She curtsied, her battered skirt dusting the rotten ground. "Excuse us." The rest of the family also attempted to pay their respect.

Legolas smirked and playfully pulled Bard up, causing him to stagger and children to snicker. "'Twas unnecessary, for it should be me to bow before the great Dragon-Slayer of Laketown." He knelt slowly, hand over heart. His stunning gold hair tumbled down his sleek face. Bard chuckled and sent his children off. "Can you spare some of your men to search for my travel companion?" Legolas asked.

"Aye." Bard complied and sent a few of his men to search for Silevon. Returning to his people, he turned away without so much of a glance in the elf's' direction.

Legolas looked around the stony remnants of the city. He had had his fill of death and he wished for green – the colours of the forest. Finding the nearest tree from Dale, he scaled it easily.

A chilling wind blew through Dale, carresing his slender body with gentle touches, comforting him slightly. Among the distracting emotions, he hadn't realized how exhausted he had become. Through a hazy blur of grey and brown, he drifted off into the other world. He cared not for the Bowman, the raised voices, nor others who would witness his vulnerability. He felt safe... safe... among the dry leaves; it reminded him of home. His heart sunk past the surface of return.

Legolas Greenleaf

Where dost thou journey lie

Below the trees

Above the sky

The battle is won

The day is done

What is left for you

You don't belong here

Among the dour faces and slippery minds

You will walk alone now

Hollow, forgotten, dying... dying... dying

Legolas awakened with a start, heart pounding so hard he could hear it's consistent hammering in his ears. _Breathe, breathe, deep breaths now,_ he recollected_. _His hands were scraped from gripping the rough edges of the tree. Strands of hair blew past his face, and his eyes widened in fear. How much time had passed? Laying his head back against it's sturdy features, he reminded himself where he was, or still was: the city of Dale.

_Ai!_ He should have left not too long ago! What had dissuaded him?

A loud cough from below shattered his musing. "Ahem, elf! Your horse has been found!"

Calming his heaving chest with one hand, Legolas nodded, his mind on something else at the moment.

"I wasted a lot of time searching for this stubborn beast because I believed Silevon to be an elf companion of yours; I did not recall you specifying," the gruff voice continued. "He has been through war it seems without so much as a scratch!"

Biting his tongue, Legolas looked down to find a man of rugged features roaring up to him in annoyance. He was poorly dressed for winter with only a battered sheet to keep him from the biting air. Battle scars lined his arms, and his arrogance – or was it envy – made him grit his teeth. Beside the man, a white stallion calmly stomped, observing the man's every move. Legolas softened at this.

"Aye, it's because I left him near the outskirts of the battle," he replied.

Angered but determined not to show it, the man scowled. "Well, here is your despicable beast. Now leave us to mourn our dead and feast later tonight. Not everyone can enjoy the luxuries of a warm bed and withstand the bitter cold like you." He gave the horse a nudge with the back of his hand. And with the startling whoosh of the ragged sheet, the man turned sharply with a look of pure loathing.

Rounding a corner, he slipped behind a decaying building as quiet as a mouse, observing the elf and his agile movements with interest.

**oOo**

Bard watched as Legolas's hair danced in the wind among the tree. He sighed.

_Bard the Dragon-Slayer_. Is that what everyone would adress him as now? He knew his entire life was changed since the death of the dragon, but he was too humble to boast of such tidings. So, he was king.

Bard smiled and threaded his fingers together.

Walking away from the commotion of victory, he realized that Legolas was no longer above ground. Where had he run off to? Wiping his raw hands onto his leather clothing, he glanced among his people. After quite some time, he spotted a hint of gold among the crowd and shuffled through them, heading toward the faint light in the distance.

"I see you have come to bid me well on my journey."

Bard jumped, the voice issuing directly from behind. And there was Legolas, twin knives unsheathed, casting a gold reflection in the direction he had been heading. ALthough the elf's outward grace shone through, his eyes were slightly dull with sadness; a peculiar grief that could not have been caused from the war. For all he knew, no one close to the prince had fallen into shadow.

"Aye?" stammered Bard uneasily. "You are rather sneaky my friend, and I am glad I won't be seeing you anymore to stir up trouble with that brazen king of yours."

Legolas only tilted his head to the left, his twinkling eyes filling with mirth. "Nay, if my father is brazen, then I am even more so."

"I say differently." Bard raised his eyebrows. "I would know."

"Ah, I see; you think you know him well enough do you," Legolas stated, hiding a wave of amusement, and made to leave.

Bard stopped him with a low chuckle. "Forget of this. I wish you well for you and Tauriel with all my heart. I don't know how she puts up with you."

Legolas's eyes suddenly grew distant as he returned the gesture. "_Novaer, boe annin gwad_. I must leave," he replied.

The elf filled his quiver with fresh arrows and elegantly wrapped his green mantle around his shoulders. His actions were swift, nimble even. Whatever darkness cursed the elf, did not arise externally. So what was the pain hidden behind those once piercing eyes?

Whistling alluringly, Legolas acknowledged his beast. His horse paused, swishing it's mane and tail boldly as if to show off, and gently head-butted its master. The sudden movement caused the elf to flinch in surprise and he grasped the only thing closest to him for support: Bard's arm.

The Bowman jumped, startled, and instinctively thrust a hand out to balance the enticing figure. However, Legolas instantly pulled back at the touch, all the while twisting gracefully to avoid another assault. Laughing silently at Bard's sheepish expression, he stroked his horse in distraction.

"May I?" Bard asked tentatively, wanting permission.

The elf nodded and quietly whispered in fluent elven tongue, the words like a flowing river of eloquence.

Immediately, the horse submitted. It nuzzled the back of the man's calloused hand as if searching for food. Exhaling, Bard gently caressed its neck and mane, marveling at the smooth complexion and how much care the horse received.

"He is most beauteous," he stated. _Most similar to his rider_, the bowman added in his head much too quickly. Shaking the childish thought away as quickly as could manage, he glanced warily at the prince, wondering if he could read his pathetic thoughts.

If Legolas noticed, he didn't show it. The only moving part of his body were his eyes, scanning the vast horizon. Noticing the fading of glum winter light, the elf snapped out of his trance, and mounted his steed. Naught but duty awaited him.

"Bowman, I shall take my leave of you." Legolas said. He gestured towards Dale. "I wish your family well."

"I shall see you soon?"

Legolas chuckled. "I fear that you need not, king of Dale. Your duty of bartering lies elsewhere."

Rearing on its hind legs, the horse took off, snow dust trailing up in rising thick clouds.

Bard stood at the entrance of Dale, with a calculating expression. What distracted the elf? Surely something troubled his mind? Bard could only watch, compelled at the astonishingly beautiful scene. Racing through the snow, the Prince of Mirkwood sat regal. His lithe figure and flaxen hair was very similar to his father's and perhaps Legolas's mother as well?

Comparing the two royals abruptly reminded the bowman that he owed the Elvenking his gratitude. Perhaps he would discuss his concern with him. Thranduil awaited him, having offered his wine in alliance with he, nearly an hour past. With victory came merriment and the plunder of riches. However, he felt naught but guilt claw at his heart as Legolas vanished into the distance.

_Fare thee well. May the spirits of Valar guide your journey as well as your heart. __These heavy partings will not be the end of us meeting again._

_That I promise you._

Vigilant once more, Bard the Bowman strode gravely back towards the demolished courtyard of Dale. And Legolas, sadness gripping his heart, dissapeared into the snowy eve, headed for the woods that bore him.

* * *

Savo 'lass a lalaith - Have joy and laughter

Novaer, boe annin gwad - Farewell. I must go


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3: NO PLACE LIKE TRAVEL**

.oOo.

Where the road then takes me, I cannot tell

I came all this way but now comes the day to bid you farewell

.oOo.

Over hills and under tree one lone elf rode onward, leaving the battlefield far behind. The cold winter air stung his face as the acceleration grew. A haunting moon rose, giving way to illuminate the path in which the rider traveled.

Having already calculated the best route, Legolas hoped the journey would not last long.

He observed the starlight that now composed the sky uninterested. He felt empty, knew not what to do with his immortal life. No birds sung, no scuttling of smaller creatures could be heard, only the soft blow of the wind sliding against leaf. The effect of the war still lingered like a dark haze over the earth. If only it could be washed away, cleansed. O how he yearned for the evil to diminish along with the festering dark in the East and the banishment of Sauron.

But like a root in the back of his mind, he knew that evil had not yet fulfilled his purpose. That he knew for certain from the tips of his pointed ears to feet.

**oOo**

Finding a small place to lay camp under tree, he sat up high encircled by a sea of leaves; and polished his twin knives and bow with a small silk cloth.

With the holding of these weapons came the urge to practice his skill. And in one fluent motion, he had pulled a steel-tipped bodkin from his quiver and pulled it back past his ear. With a soft _zing, _it pierced the air and spiraled toward the tree opposite him_. _An assured grin spread across his face before he could process the action_. _Although weapons, they were his pride and glory. It had been a gift and one fit for the Prince of Mirkwood.

As he gazed at the bow, he remembered all too quick the vulnerability when he had ran out of arrows. Such a mistake had nearly costed Tauriel's life. He raised the silk cloth to wipe his face in distraction as he felt his ears grow slightly hot with shame.

_He_ had nearly failed in protecting the elleth. He of all people. The _Prince_ of the Woodland Realm.

A brilliant flash of pain overtook his slender body as quickly as a lighting strike. Tears streamed down the corners of his eyes, and painted his face a ghostly pale in comparison to the starless night. Muscles stiffened, hands contracted into fists.

He pleaded himself for noise not to escape him, embarrassed by his lack of dignity. He silently screamed into his arms. Why him? His head spun, and the darkness seemed endless.

_O how his heart was a tangle of despaired sentiment._

He felt as if he were plunging into icy waters and then doused in cruel flames. The fading prince could feel himself losing the battle, gradually slipping into nothingness. Who could let such a pain exist? The last sensation he remembered were the blurs of vast blackness, beckoning him as if he were to do their bidding.

Almost as it had begun, his flaming chest ceased without so much of a mark. And the elf was left clawing for breath, the internal wound causing his head to spin in circles. As if he were an elfling learning to climb his first tree, he clung to the rough tree branch with a chilling fear. He became aware of the rapid beatings in his chest, and worried that all of Arda could hear it.

He knew what tormented him. The void in him had begun to take root.

The trees that surrounded him noticed the elf's misery and decided to assist the fair creature. They enclosed their branches around him, providing him with warmth at his touch, soothing him into a dreamless uneasy sleep.

**oOo**

Legolas's horse tossed its mane impatiently as to why its master had not responded. Convinced Legolas wished to stay above the leaves, he lay near the trees' base, listening to the quiet stirrings of night. Shadows danced across the earth, oblivious to the divine being that lay above, weary from the tortures of the mind.

Tumbling through shadow

Disappearing light

Appearing night

Dreams of war

Dreams of fire

Dreams of lies

All shall resurface

In time

Legolas thrashed among the leaves, hair flying, wiry arms flailing. He dreamt of nothing. Nothingness meant no pain, no worries, but alas that meant no memories. No hope.

His mind wandered relentlessly over what was happening to him. It was clear that he had an unrequited love for Tauriel, but in that false hope he had placed, she had given him up for their rival race: dwarves. Never had he been compared to a dwarf before and lost. It was enough to cause him heartaches. This was the reason behind his insufferable agony.

He had been sure he had been loved before but never to consistency. His father had all but forgotten Legolas once his mother had been murdered near Angmar, only acknowledging him as an heir to the throne nothing more. They rarely spent time together, only to make contact briefly during council meetings. He absolutely nothing of his childhood, nor did his father ever tell him. Or perhaps the memory was faint and so long ago.

He awakened fully with full realization. This pain, it would find him. In his darkest hour, in his lone moments among the false tranquility of the trees, among a crowd. And he feared nothing could stop it.

_For he was dying. Dying of a broken heart. __The lone son of Thranduil, amongst the most powerful Elvenking of their Age was dying. _

Awareness of his surroundings had ceased to exist. With a heavy heart, he made his way down the tree.

**oOo**

The soft pitter patter of sliding _thumps_ against the ground. The rustling of brushed away leaves, the sound of swishing clothing, and low scuttling fluttered amongst the undergrowth emanated.

**oOo**

Head still above the treetops, Legolas let out a startled grunt as he made contact with something unsteady and warm beneath him. It was... moving! With undertsanding, he leapt to the side as a large neck snapped up in fury. _Ah_, it was merely Silevon. How could he have forgotten? The horse must have been napping quite contently when he had awoken to a blow to his back.

Rising quickly to all fours, the noble animal bucked wildly, attempting to deposity its weightless cargo violently in front. Mounting an offensive position, it raised his front legs, preparing to knock this bothersome creature unconscious with powerful hooves.

With a wild cry of understanding, Legolas waved his arms frantically. Twice he called his horse by name, and then in a more gentler tone a low,_ "Mellon-nin."_

Only when the stallion took notice of him, did he let out a large sigh of relief. "Please calm yourself, I did not wish to harm you. You merely took me by surprise," he coaxed.

With a low snort that seemed to say, 'What a foolish elf you are', Silevon halted his crazed fit. Laughing quietly to himself, Legolas wrapped his light mantle 'round himself once again over himself, and mounted, applying pressure to his horses' flank, leading it into a small canter. The break of forest behind him vanished an the thick tangled boughs came into view. Riding more than a couple leagues further, Legolas couldn't help but let a small smile of joy slip at the sight of the leafy canopy.

Home.

His feet ruffled among the dead leaves of countless winters that drifted over the banks of the path from the deep red carpets of the forest.

Riding into the thick bowels of Mirkwood, his eyes scanned in every direction of the forest, picking up the smallest yet strangest sound. Sliding off his horse, he stiffened, every sense in his muscular body tingling with anticipation. His homeland, whatever it meant to him, did not keep the dark creatures at bay.

Instead of terror, his mouth twitched in excitement. _He was not alone_. Instantly, his attitude slipped into a more dangerous appearance. He prepared for an assault. What foul creatures dared to cross his path? Either, quite foolish or did not know of him, he would end their lives just the same.

Stealthily, with the exact precision of a cat, he crouched into a hunters position, unclasping his bow from his back strap. He expertly latched an arrow into his bow, preparing to release at any sign of sharp movement.

His eyes narrowed. The sound of sneering did not escape the princes' sharp hearing.

At once, the woods erupted in a deafening chatter of excitement. Leaves tore and swept upwards, the movement so swift, that the whole forest seemed to hold its breath in apprehension.

Due to the immense amount of shade the woods casted, Legolas cold not see, a fear that chilled his already surprised heart.

Leaving the rest to instinct, he leapt with quick precision. But as soon as the move was made, the leaves came alive. Shadows – too many and much to fast to count – surrounded him. Realizing the misjudgment of his act, he braced himself toward the impact. Although the dark concealed their forms and faces, he knew he could bring down... Every. Single. One.

Already in the air, he begun the fiery dance that struck fear into the most valiant of creatures.

The shadows spun in the opposite direction, becoming quickly in sync. Their blows attempted to match their skill with his own. Blade matched for blades.

Legolas, caught off his guard, was momentarily surprised at how agile his enemies were. How were they so quick? Reaching out to seize a sturdy sickly branch overhead, he lifted his body into the treetops.

Weaving in and out of the gnarled branches, he listened for their pursuit. Had they followed? Perhaps they had wandered off... He closed his eyes in an effort to listen better. Suddenly, he knew exactly where they planned to assault him. He grinned.

They were directly beneath him.

With one brilliant calculating fall, Legolas flung himself onto the back of one, receiving a metallic _clang_ at the contact however. "_Rhaich!_" he hissed in pain, but his voice was lost throughout the sudden crash. He knew he had at least slightly injured his ankle due to the unbelievable sturdiness of this creature. He smirked in response, anger twisting his features taut.

Unsheathing his twin blades, he wielded them to match his fiery rhythm, spinning like a whirlwind. The slender shadows _yelped_ in surprise, forced to mount a defense. Upon touching solid ground once more, Legolas knew he held the advantage. Head raised high he let his twin blades rest at his side.

What in Arda were they?

He heard the sharp unsheathing of blades and he cocked his head, daring the fell creatures to inch closer. Swiftly bounding away, he turned his head, preparing to receive a counter attack.

Unintentionally, a sliver of sun peered through the leafy canopies, catching him. It enveloped his fair face.

Abruptly, the dark figures that surrounded him gasped aloud. They immediately retreated a couple of steps back into the glade, dropping their weapons as they did so. Their tools clattered noisily to the floor.

_"Iston i nif gin!" _One exclaimed.

At the sound of perfectly spoken elvish, Legolas threw his weapons to the ground. Doubt crawled from his mind down to the pit of his stomach. Just as they had recognized him, the sun captured the clearing where they stood, revealing their identities.

It was Legolas's turn to be taken aback. Why, they were not fell creatures of the dark, nor Sauron's slaves, but warriors of Mirkwood! THey were now exposed to the sun, and their dark elven armour shimmered, reflecting the pride in which they had polished their uniform. Their fair faces flushed as Legolas scolded:

"Fools! What do you think you are doing?"

Dropping to their knees at once as if an executioner were about to drop the axe, they remained silent. Their auburn colored hair covered their startled hazel eyes. If their prince was anything like his father, they knew they were as good as... dead.

Legolas stood unmoving, assessing each and every one of them coldly. "Do not be afraid to speak your minds Sword-masters. _Lle tela?" _

He collected his fellow warrior's weapons and threw them into a pile near them. Giving them a chilling glare, Legolas dismissed their bows. One of the younger guards attempted to apologize to the baffled prince.

"My liege, please forgive us. We may have mistaken you for a-a..." He glanced back at his fellow gaurds as if searching for aid.

"A what?!" Legolas demanded.

"An Orc."

Legolas's eyes twinkled with amusement, but the reality of the incident brought him back. "_Pe-channas_! How dare you! _Dol gin lost_, how could you mistake myself for one of those horribly foul creatures!" he scolded half-heartedly. Drawing breath, he continued through clenched teeth, "You could have undoubtedly killed me or any other elf who happened to wander astray and stumbled into your midst."

Face still plastered with shame, the indefinite leader of the guards approached. "_Goheno_ _nin_. Your father left us with specific orders to challenge any who crossed the border other than himself and company. You see, with most of the soldiers fighting during the battle at Erebor, it would leave Mirkwood defenseless and—"

Legolas cut him off with the swift motion of the hand.

"Leave me be. I have heard enough. I will discuss this matter with the king once I have completed the assignment he gave me," he said coolly. Walking towards his own fallen weapons, he knelt gracefully and lovingly stroked them, clearing off the grime they had collected from the dense forest floor.

The youngest guard watched in awe as the prince wrenched his twin knives from the barren earth and threw them at the two closest guards with such force. In surprise they scrambled to evade, no time to mount a defense. They instantly flung themselves to the ground.

Legolas smirked, head held high. His aim was true. The knives sung through the air until they embedded themselves mercilessly into their target.

The young guard, realizing his eyes were closed, slowly opened them, fearful for his fellow soldiers. Staggering, he was somwhere between astonished and amazed. The knives had punched themselves through the thick armor, though not close enough to their flesh to cause pain. Only the hilts were visible throughout the armor. He suddenly realized that the elves were stuck to a gnarled grey tree behind them, held there each by the knives themselves.

The two guards, shocked at their predicament, gazed at the prince in admiration rather than fear. Elves all held the same skill as warriors but this, this was different.

Legolas chuckled, apparently finding the whole ordeal rather amusing. Pausing to glance at the youngest guard, he signaled to him.

"Come hither."

Clearly an order, the stricken guard glided over leaf and made his way in front of the prince.

"What is thy name?"

"Prince Legolas, I am Barhador, son of Bruinaer," the elf replied.

Legolas approved, satisfaction written across his features. "Your name means 'one faithful to home'. Inform the king of this - he paused and exhaled - _incident_ once he returns. I doubt he will take the news lightly."

Legolas watched with distrust as Barhador's face twisted into doubt. But, within a couple seconds, Barhador seemed to regain his pride and liveliness. "Yes, of course." As swift as a hart, he knelt, auburn strands covering his shame. As he did so, Legolas's ankle caught his attention. It had become to sell. An array of tender colours cursed that sliver of porclain skin; and he noticed the prince had begun to favour his other leg. "My liege—"

Legolas shot the elf a glance of pure frost in warning. Then, his face softened and he nodded. "Farewell, Barhador son of Bruinaer. Perhaps our paths will cross once more in the future." Dismissing the other guards that hovered anxiously around them, he retracted his twin daggers. "_Ego_, I am headed for the kingdom. I advise you should do the same."

The two slumped undignified to the ground. Apologizing once more, they got to their feet and nimbly scurried into the lush woods. Before the forest consumed them wholly, they both turned and gave the prince a long look of recognition.

Once the last of the elves disappeared through the brush, Legolas took flight. His hair flowed freely in the dry bitter breeze. He was home. Racing silently through the distorted trees, he sang elegantly:

Into the woods who know what awaits

Paths are of no use for us here

for you are entering the realm

of the guardian of the wood

Pass peacefully through

if you mean no ill will

Make no game

or face the wrath

of the Wood Sylvan Elves

The lyrics flowed high and pitch perfect, breeze picking up the tune. It was a very old elven folk song, a beautiful piece of history.

**oOo**

_"Ada, why don't you sing any longer," a young elfling asked his father. _

_"Why don't you make friends with the others? Why don't you practice archery any longer? Why don't you leave me be?" Thranduil growled through clenched teeth. _

_"Because it reminds you of her?" Legolas whispered cautiously._

_"Nay, because we lose the heart to do such things when it reminds us of grief," Thranduil said slowly. He patted the elfing on the head before retreating into his chambers._

_Song played a large role in the royal family when words failed to fill the gaps of displaying emotion. Every silence needn't be filled with words. It could be filled with the tune of song; expression of the heart through lyrics. But now, even that had disappeared along with his mother._

_Over the years and years, the young prince noticed a new obsession took root in the king's mind. Thranduil craved for the Queen's jewels. Soon the want became a necessity where his life depended on those sparkling stones. And the king decided he would reclaim them from Erebor. Even if that meant removing his son from the picture..._

**oOo**

Legolas stalled, standing high above the treetops where he could see the clear sky. Peering upwards his sharp eyes caught the birds flying high, well off the dense murky ground below. He saw the stars twinkling teasingly as dusk hungrily devoured the already murky forest into nothingness.

Spirits soaring with freedom, the prince gazed into the night, wishing that morning would never come.

Quickly remembering this forest was not as safe as it used to be, he unwillingly crept down to the forest floor and effortlessly sprinted through the grass, searching near and far for his steed. Even now in pitch-blackness, the elf could see every moving detail through his path. He knew every turn, arc, and lie the wicked paths held like the back of his hand.

_What he failed to see however were the eyes watching him..._

* * *

Iston i nif gin - I know that face

lle tela - Are you done

Ego - Begone

Pe-channas - Idiot

Dol gin lost - Your mind is empty

Goheno nin - Forgive me

Nana - Mother

Allume - At last


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Nobles and Rulers**

The night was dark and pitch black that he could see nothing; absolutely nothing. Still, he relied on his hearing to guide him. The path he treaded was narrow and wound in around the trunks. He carried onward on light feet, the quiet so deep that even his footsteps made low _thumps_ along the forest carpet. Occasionally, a low beam of moonlight penetrated the roof and his spirits lifted at this. Queer noises; grunts, scufflings, and skittering among the undergrowth caught his sharp ears and made him uneasy. He decided to leap above the trees. As he did, dark dense cobwebs with extraordinary threads caught his clothing, stretching and splitting after great effort.

At last, after the occasional treading into false ends, did he glimpse the stronghold of his bearing. Under the slender beams of moon, he saw the palace that lay within the heart of Mirkwood surrounded by beeches. It stood enormously high, towering over the Realm like a mother hovering protectingly over her child. A waterfall, flowing fast and strong, lay to the right of it.

Legolas admired his home, struck with awe at the magnificent presence the palace gave. Roused by the sight of the huge doors of decorated stone, he scurried over the remaining trree-tops like a squirrel. "Good nigh'!" he called merrily to the guards in front. Crossing the thin bridge that connected forest to cavern, the guards softened their fierce appearance at the sight of their prince. Lowering their stance, they bowed respectfully and offered assistance. Questions were flung.

"Did the war end in our favour?"

"Have you eaten?"

"Any wounds for to tend?"

"Is the king with you?"

"Nay. He is still attending business in Erebor, but no worries, he will arrive shortly," Legolas responded quickly, dismissing earlier questions. Sleek armour glinting in the night, they inched closer, as if to determine the well being of their prince. Legolas waved them off. "If you do not mind, I wish to be left alone." And with a quick, "carry on," he thanked them and rushed through the many passages and vast halls.

Further underground his destination led him, and up several winding staircases. Being careful not to crash into other elves, he twisted and turned, gaining several eyes as he did so. One included a stumbling elf carrying a flagon of wine and a palette filled with lembas bread. It must have been the potent wine that made him drowsy, for when Legolas swiped all the elf's belongings for himself, he did not seem to notice. Clutching the items, he hid the elvish way-bread underneath his silver tunic and held the wine in his hand. He had never been drunk before and curiosity got the better of him.

Filled with enthusiasm, he strode past past his Adar's room. It was silver lined and etched with designs of woodland flowers. His mind surged with faint memories that came in blurs. Lovely stories and tales of valiant heroes with his Nana. The steady stroke of her fingers on his head, braiding his plait. O' how he missed her dearly.

Doing his best to ignore the tightening pain in his chest, he left the locked room far behind.

Upon reaching his own entrance to his chambers, he turned the wooden knob with apprehension, and peered inside. The leaf embroidered gave a steady _creak_ as it slid back into place.

His chest gave a little flutter with happiness as he saw his belongings. Laying his items on the stone floor, he sighed. His elvish garments lay in a neat assortment near his vine engraved closet, standing on the wall opposite his bed. Turning, something caught his eye:

The light of the stars had the luck to slip past the opening from room to overlook.

He rushed to the ledge. A feeling of pure joy filled his body with renewed strength, causing his head to become dizzy with excitement. He resisted the urge to to leap into the open sea of trees in the moonlight.

Above the earth, where even trees failed to carry him, he had the perfect view of beyond. He could see the shadows that clouded and twisted its way through the woodland. He could see the river which tearfully cried for the sun to glow and reflect upon her once more. Even Rivendell.

Basking in the freedom of the open air, he closed his eyes. And he stayed like that, hours flying past like seconds, free for this moment in the least.

Snapping back to reality, he made his way over to his luxurious bed of woven silver and green colours.

Green.

An unwilling flashback of Tauriel's fresh warrior attire overtook his mind like a storm. Stupidly realizing his mistake, the prince groaned aloud as a flooding wave of pain crashed against him, driving his mind into an endless chasm of agony. The pain was worse than before, like a fire rises in strength as time wears on. He struggled to remain collected. Even more so, concious. He even considered throwing himself from the balcony, for it was just too great to handle. Not wanting to be sick, he sprawled aross the bed, arms enclosed around his chest. He willed his body to stop its erratic shaking.

Fear fastened itself in his heart like a dark root to an evil tree. Although frightening, it was also fascinating. He could not believe it – did not want to. Elves never grew ill, but fading — it was different.

_For it was the nature of such elves to do so under the woes of lament._

After hours or seconds (he did not know), the pain decreased as it had done in the past, the ache returning to mere irritation.

Silence reigned. He pulled the covers over himself and closed the silver curtains surrounding him. He collapsed into dark, lashes slowly fluttering shut at the warmth. _When shall I tell Adar about my dying? _This question, it was one he never believed to ever think about.

"_*Posto vae, Adar_," he whispered absently. Wishing his heart would stop tormenting him, he reassured himself that things would be better on the 'morrow. _Please let it be so_, he thought before sinking into a dreamless, dark sleep.

**oOo**

Legolas was awoken as the dim rays of yellow and orange slid over his face. Cringing, he sat up slowly, careful not to bring himself more of the suffering sensation. He brushed his golden hair so it gleamed and changed quickly into another fresh warrior outfit. Equipped with his arrows, his twin knives, and his bow, he smoothly pushed open the door with confidence.

All enthusiasm within him vanished in mere seconds.

What awaited made him realize sleeping in the palace was a horrible idea. Why did things always go unexpected for him? Wide-eyed and astounded, he instinctively slammed the heavy door shut, sending a loud _boom_ throughout the fortress. He raised a hand to his forehead in frustration and calculated his best escape.

On the other side of his door was his father.

"_Ion-nin_, by all means may you shut the door in my presence," Thranduil irritably stated. He pushed open the door with his boot. In a silver-knit robe he came, flaxen hair to his waist, calculating eyes glinting frigid. Those icy orbs engulfed his son, who was clearly in dismay. "Have you completed your task?" The Elvenking purred in sarcasm.

Legolas bit his lip and held his arms to his sides. "Nay father. I simply stopped to rest and pay my respect to the woods before continuing to the next destination of my journey. How fared your travel home?"

"I would think it wise son, to get on with it then," Thranduil said. The last question went unanswered. He tapped his carven staff against the floor. The action sent Legolas's mind into a fit of shivers. He instantly nodded, keeping his ground. Nearly as tall as his father, he shot his own icy glare. He searched the emotionless king's face for any sign of fatherly empathy, but it was in vain.

"I would, if you would be so kind as to leave my bedchambers. Since you do not wish to speak to me of other matters, Legolas replied coolly.

"Do not speak back to me in such a way," came the aggressive retort as the king curled his lip. "One of the guards, by the name of Barhador, spoke to me of your warm welcome near the kingdom's border." How unfitting for my son to lack the potential to recognize his own people."

"—Light was very dim near the part where we fought," Legolas voiced. "I can see past the end of my own nose. Unlike you _father_." He said the last statement slowly, dragging the _er_ longer than necessary.

The two circled each other, like two hunters fighting for the same prey, each calculatedly willing the other to back down. Legolas knew this was wrong and stopped his bitter remarks, not wanting things to turn ugly.

Thranduil stood tall, the light emanating his striking features. His dark eyebrows furrowed as he gave his son a dispassionate look. As he watched his son's icy blue eyes search himself, his face hardened, thoughts becoming unreadable to the prince. Stroking his golden hair near his leafy crown, Thranduil looked away. "_Ego!_ Leave my sight at once. I will not tolerate this undignified behavior."

"_Avon_. 'Tis my room, not yours. You hold no authority here," Legolas responded softly. "You are only king in your heartless mind."

King Thranduil snapped. The same resentment he had divulged towards Thorin during their disagreement, was brought upon his son. The act that followed was lightning fast, a blur of a swipe, and Legolas barely had enough time evading. Thranduil lashed out, fingers barely grazing the prince's flawless skin, but a defining action nonetheless.

Legolas nimbly jumped backwards out of harms way, but he stood stricken by the extent of his father's anger. Standing head high, Legolas remembered he had stood up to his king once, and he would do it again if worse came to worse.

At the memory of how he prevented his father from laying a hand on Tauriel, he realized too late the instant pain that would follow.

Buckling instantly, he feelt hazy with the sparking sensation of fire. To his luck however, his father was in such a distant state that his eyes missed the action. Recovering quickly from the realization of what he had caused, Thranduil saw a flash of pain appear on his son's face. Regret instantly followed and he hesitantly reached out.

Pushing past his confused father, Legolas ran in the opposite direction. He expertly hid his astonishment. Did his father despise him?

And in the silent agony of betrayal, he threw himself head-first off the balcony, into the murky sunshine that flooded his elven features.

Thranduil gasped in alarm. The curse of shock overwhelmed him and stiffened his reflexes. He reached out to grab Legolas's green tunic, but his slender fingers grasped naught but empty air. His mouth widened in a dreaded fear, at loss for words.

As if some spell had been casted, the king found himself rooted to one spot, and could only helplessly watch his son plummet recklessly into the thicket below.

* * *

*Posto vae - Good night

Ionneg - My son

Avon - I won't


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5: DEPTHS**

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Reaching the trees that lay below, he disappeared, the murky foliage masking his body from view. A wild smile of joy appeared on his face though he knew not why.

Flipping perfectly in midair, he twisted his body into a more suitable position for landing. The pain in his chest had minimized slightly over the long dive, leaving room for movement. He glided over the roof of leaves that awaited him. Entwined with the boughs and leaves, he made for the ground.

His descent was timed poorly, however, and his swollen ankle became caught in the massive vines. He untangled his left leg with great difficulty. No doubt the king would make a snide remark:

_"My young prince, I thought I had raised you better than this. Climbing down trees should not be a problem for an elf who has grown up surrounded by them," And his father would have the same unwavering expression, the same deep voice, and the same glint in his eyes that looked at him so lowly._

Looking down, Legolas noticed his ankle was bent in a oddly twisted angle. He cursed in elvish (none too harshly, and it was strange note from a fair being such as he) and reached out to remove his left boot. But, he halted as something caught his ears. A deep, harsh note blew above the foliage, spreading thoughout the intricacies of the forest and beyond. An elvish horn. Small creatures of the dark scuttered as the horn fluked up an octave above him.

He spoke above the sound: "Alas! My father is too persistent for his own good. It will be the death of him one of these days." His ordinary voice sounded like a whisper after the blow of the horn.

No doubt his father was sending guards to inspect his fall. Or would he come see for himself? He scowled at this. However, one line of regret kept entering his mind. Why had he forgotten the wine?

Smiling awkwardly, Legolas fled into the dark brush. The sun sank and the shadows of evening fell like a curtain.

**oOo**

Thranduil was beyond worried. He was weary, and the wind was much too cold against his skin. Feren worriedly awaited orders just outside the walls of his Realms. Thranduil's eyes drifted to the doors, but there was no comfort there. Only beyond this seperation was his son somewhere within Mirkwood – in pain.

"I must find him..." Thranduil resorted to. And the king pushed open the heavy doors, and walked into the gloom.

**oOo**

Legolas paused. How foolish of him to disregard a ride to Rivendell. Risking the command to summon his horse was a risk, and such a risk would lead his father nearer. Yet, he had no other choice.

Pursing his smooth lips to eminate the tune, he looked around the glade nervously. His calling floated above the trees, rivalring the booming blare of the horn, and pierced the evening like a sword to a shield.

**oOo**

Thranduil had seen the flash of pain that had taken ahold of his son. And then, had witnessed Legolas's fall from the balcony, his smirk, his act of defiance. But this pain—He could not be sure if it was caused by his own hand or whether it was something... more? He had only meant to intimidate his son, not to cause pain, or had he? He had measured the act before carrying it out, did he not? Even he could not tell, and that made his heart sink deeper.

_His son must be alive_, he thought, and turned to his elven company.

"Stop until I say," he said with a sigh.

They responded with the usual, "yes my lord," and their bright eyes flashed with worry.

And then Thranduil walked away, yearning for solitude. Filled with dread, he tried to distance himself from dozens of his concerned subjects, not really cognizant where he was headed.

_Please be alright Legolas, _he found himself repeating in his head.

The guards that led the search frantically scoured the forest for any sign of where their prince could be. It was evening, and the grey light was waning quickly, when they paused for the night. Yet Thranduil ordered them on.

"I wish nothing more but to return as well," he said to them, "but how can I when I return without shame—unless he is dead, and we accept defeat?" At this, they obeyed, and set out again.

Anyone who knew the elvenking well, would have seen the anguish in his fair face, the shame. And they would have realized how much he cared for his son.

Suddenly, a chance of hope rang throughout the wood in the form of a tune.

Thranduil halted, stilled, and ordered his company to light torches. All was dark save for the flares, and they pressed on, encouraged by this small chance. Legolas had called for a horse, which meant he wished to flee. But where; the North? Rivendell? Beyond that?

"_Hir vûin_, what are your orders?" Feren asked quietly. "Should we press on – should we follow the sound?"

Thranduil collected himself, and gave the elf a hard glare. Pinpointing where Legolas had called for Silevon was much too easy, but locating the obstinate prince when he did not wish to be found could prove to be very difficult indeed. He wanted his son here, now, to apologize then interrogate, force answers from his son.

"Go. No one rests until I see my son brought here, Mirkwood, then the throne room."

The elves nodded, and dispersed throughout the forest. Under the skirts of the canopy of shadow, they flew through the hollows. The torches flickered and died.

**oOo**

Legolas trekked forward. Dark shadows from the foliage slid over his skin, painting him green—or black, he knew not. Emotionless, he awaited his horse.

A sliver of white against darkness pierced the veil of the night, and Legolas turned. Silevon gracefully trotting up to him, snorting as he did so. His horse seemed to say 'My what a mess you have caused.'

"Where have you been?" Legolas said with no amount of haste. "It matters not, but _mellon-nin_ we must leave at once so please show me the meaning of haste! My father is—"

Legolas's greeting was cut off. The air had grown very cold, and he froze gelid in his tracks. He had picked his way steadily for some distance, when suddenly he had sensed a black shadow ahead, like a patch of midnight that had lingered. A shiver ran down the base of his spine. It had followed him.

_Something stirs_, he concluded and twisted his head to assess his situation. "A Mirkwood Spider."

At this, eight glittering red orbs met fearful blue ones. Like candles, the red lights glittered, and Legolas feared they were blinking. He could not suppress a groan. Did he have no luck at all? He could make out the grotesque shape of his stalker: a hideous spider sat in the branches above him. Although having expertly killed many of this kind before, he coils not supress the shiver that overtook him. It was quite large, but in a sense, nothing he couldn't handle. It's legs and jaws were stickily covered in dried blood, no doubt the remnants of the last meal it had consumed. It's stinger, although not that large in size, menacingly dipped downward, preparing to subdue the lithe elf with its powerful venom.

Then the great spider came up from behind him and came at him. He could only see the thing's eyes, but he could feel it's hairy legs radiate a prickling sensation. Legolas was lucky that he had come to his senses in time.

O Valar, why now of all times?

Keeping his distance, his eyes never left his opponent for a second. He nearly pleaded for his fellow elven folk to discover him. The hungry look the creature in front of him was imposing sent shivers down his spine.

Silevon was a little ways off, not wanting to distract the spider nor his rider. Upon hearing the Wood-Elves not too far behind, the horse stomped its broad hooves, sending clouds of dirt into the air.

Driven with hurry, Legolas squinted through the thicket. The eyes had disappeared, hidden behind the overgrowing boughs and leaves. Then something black streaked across the leaves, and he positioned his bow quickly, pulling a steel bodkin from his quiver. _He could not risk his father's wrath upon him!_ _Time was limited!_ His back arched, and his firing hand pulled the bowstring back in one fluent motion. Concentrating intently on his target, he released.

The bow of Legolas sung. Whizzing through the air, it buried itself into the hideously warm flesh. The spider gave a shrill deathly scream that echoed thunderously. It welled with rage and sputtered and frothed, and hissed out horrible curses. Then, those fiery eyes grew dim and the life became extinguished.

Legolas panted, and relief washed over his body, calming his erratic heart. The air was silent and windless. The thin crescent of the Moon shone faintly above the grey clouds. However, Silevon whinnied still, in warning.

_Danger lurked still. Nearer. He could pick up the faint trace of scuttling. Another? Of course, didnt they hunt in numbers?_

**oOo**

Legolas paused, ears twitching as something light caught his attention: above the trees, elves ran, and my, swiflty they drew near. They were nearly upon him! Legolas spun, and called for them to call off their pursuit: "Please, my fellow Wood-Elves, return to the fortress! Leave me—"

Then, the light of his eyes faded. With a _whoosh_, something struck him. Legolas felt his upper back erupt in agony. He opened his mouth in quiet disbelief as something penetrated him, digging deep into his back. An explosion of pain. He had been scathed? He had been scathed. Realization dawned over the terrified elf. How—? He grunted, unrelenting, not wanting to accept that an attack on him had succeeded. A convulsion overtook his body. He dug his fingers into the palm of his hand, turning his palms raw and red with blood.

First came the pain, then the anger. An new fire ignited within his infliction, keeping him steady on his feet. His quiver guardsmen tunic had blocked most of the blow, but the seeping sensation that followed led to him cringing in uneasiness. His jaw clenched. Twisting his head to face his attacker, he found himself face to face with the beast. Another of the much larger spawn of Mirkwood Spiders. Its demonic eyes glimmered with satisfaction, and to Legolas's dismay, saw it's stinger coated in blood. Out of the shadows and into the light it came, screeching, and flailing its stinger as if in pride. It smiled at him.

**oOo**

_A cry of horrified terror vibrated through the dense wood, a sound so painful to those who heard. It was the sound not many elves made unless they were at the brink of fear, and it was nearly impossible to scare an elf._

Thranduil's head snapped up in alert, as the cry of distress followed once more. Beads of sweat trickled down his fair face. His perfect hair, now tangled in a mess, fell unevenly down past his pointed ears. He fell to his knees, as if a thousand arrows had pierced his heart. Now certain his only son was dead, he payed no heed to his distraught warriors. They turned to him with lightless, empty eyes.

"May your paths be green and the breeze in thy back," he promised. "I shall not sleep until I have seen you again, Legolas. I am... sorry."

He looked to the murky sky, remembering all the work to retrieve the gems of Lasgalen from Erebor in memory of his fallen wife. Was the war worth it?

Taking out the necklace to gaze upon its beauty, he swallowed, emotions threatening to break loose like a storm. As he held it in his palm, one lone stone of pure starlight stood out amongst the others. It had broken off the necklace, shattered.

**oOo**

Fueled by ire and revenge, Legolas had enough will to bring the monster down. Midnight had descended, and most ill shadows were blown away by the breeze. Now he stood still and nervous, steps uneven on his feet. His green tunic was streaked with red and stank of death. Everything reeked of blood. As he made for his horse, the dull pain pulsed, skittering throughout his body. And he fell. To his confusion a light moan escaped him, and his head... hurt; his eyes began envisioning spots and his limbs felt like stone.

His horse trotted up to him, and Legolas leaned on him for support. How much time did he have until the poison enveloped him into hallucination? Considering his options, he decided to take the path headed to Imladris_—_not the Woodland Realm_._

_"Reckless,"_ he imagined his father say. _"You are nearly dead, why now do you push on?"_

He felt numb inside. He could not think, he could not feel. He was simply numb.

Sluggishly mounting his horse, his limbs drooped tiredly. He was so tired. It took a lot of physical effort, but Legolas eventually succeeded. He beared it all. Suppressing a loud groan of agony, he let his body fall. Moonlight filtered through clouds, but it was a cold light, distant.

With every ounce of strength, he tried to restrain the urge to cry out. Gritting his teeth as an explosion of pain traveled through his body, he urged his horse to move faster, faster... yet he seemed to be moving slower, slower? The vast plain became a blur, a watercolored painting.

The same words repeated in his head like a drum:_ How long? How long? How much time do you have? _

_"Not very long," he imagined his father say. "So... hasten."_

He heeded the voice in his head that resembled his father. He hurried. In elvish tongue, he whispered for his horse to muster as much strength to run. Silevon dashed, and Mirkwood's broken forest grew ever smaller and smaller. As did the Elvenking.

* * *

Hir vuin - My lord


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6: ESTEL THE VIGILANT**

Dry leaves crashed against one another, the sound grim, like clattering bones. The little silence that was left became shattered by horse. Thunderous hooves slayed the earth. Dust clouds drew up in waves, and the long white road beyond stretched further still.

A weary rider lay slumped over his horse's broad shoulder blades. Legolas, hands entwined in the mane for balance, was lost in hazy thought. He didn't mind in the slightest that he was dying. It mattered little, but he wondered how his father was faring with such drastic news. Yet... perhaps he did not know?

The all high and mighty King of Mirkwood was most likely atop his throne, arrogantly waving his ring-hand, commanding his elven servants to do his every bidding. They would have already picked up his trail and he knew time – however much he had – was slowly nearing its end.

He instantly clamped his mouth shut as a pang of sickness flared at the back of his throat. How much further could he last? He limply clung to his horse and with ever twist and jolt, the prince endured it all, disregarding the intense agony that rattled his body like a doll.

Until he could bear it no longer.

And shadow encased him.

**oOo**

Lord Elrond strummed his impatient fingers on his lap, viewing the mesmerizing bright day like any other in Rivendell; pure white rays of Anor and the grey shadows of the Misty Mountains that encased their humble refuge. After his confrontation with Sauron, he had returned to this marvelous home in an effort to cleanse his mind of the evil that had touched him. For nearly three days he sat on a carved stone bench in perfect peace and tranquility, predicting the future's outcome, whispering prayers of comfort under his breath, lost in his intellect. He was suddenly brought out of his trance however when a small hand shook him gently but firmly.

"Ada!" Some faraway voice called.

_"Ada!"_

Wincing at the loud child that shouted his name, Lord Elrond groaned inwardly. "Estel, whatever could be so important as to interrupt my fore-sighting?" He lay eyes on a scraggly-haired, very wide-eyed, child.

"Oh! My apologies _Ada!_" The boy apologized, half in teasing sympathy. "I have just returned from hunting, and I believed you to be... er... asleep."

Lord Elond frowned slightly, the creases of his face scrunching up in concentration; and wondered how in all of Arda foreseeing looked similar to sleeping. His dark hazel eyes gazed at the 10-year old troublemaker, and instead of thinking, found himself wearing a warm smile. "And how did you do? Did you obey the captain's orders? Please confirm that you did."

"Ah, well..." Estel trailed off. He scratched his tousled hair only for it to become plastered to the sides of his sweat-dripping face.

"Don't tell me you – you – fooled the guards again into letting you leave early again," Lord Elrond growled. "Such an act will not be tolerated again, and your elder siblings will not be here to save you this time—"

Estel instantly giggled, but then revealed the inside of his arm. Aside from the usual scrapes from boughs and brambles, a red line traced a a twisted design across his skin. "Not his time Ada. I fell, then used it as an excuse to leave the patrol early." He rubbed his hands together, and asked with no small amount of gleam in his eyes, "Can you come exploring with me?"

"But surely your 'wound' needs mending. Run to the healers—"

"Ada, I'm _fine_," Estel insisted.

Sighing, Lord Elrond rested his hand upon the boy's wild auburn hair. He wondered why he even bothered; Aragorn was too prideful and stubborn enough to seek help, but even minor wounds would become bigger as time wore on. "Come then. Let us stroll and admire the frost covered trees together," he said, softening, what say you?"

The young boy's face seemed to light up with instant excitement. Like an enthusiastic rabbit, he eagerly pulled on his 'father's' silken blue robe, and then gave a running start, sending the silent message: 'catch me if you are able to father'.

Lord Elrond chuckled between awkward sprints. It was so lovely to have a child to look after once more. His beloved daughter, Arwen, had long ago left the nest to spend her time in books and studies, filling her immortal body with the essence of learning.

And one mustn't forget the two signature pranksters among the elves of Imlradis. Arwen's elder twin brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, were far more mischievous and reckless than she could ever hope to be. Alike in appearance and able bodied, they played pranks or simply annoyed their friends and family with ease. Estel was very fond of them, picking up their gimmicks such as stealing food from the kitchens or hiding the elven weaponry. Now proud high-ranked Rivendell Warriors, Elrohir and Elladan spent their free time boasting about their abilities to just about everyone that would listen.

Lord Elrond stopped walking as his 'son' grew quiet. It was not like the audacious child to suddenly lose speech. Perplexed, he walked over to him. "Estel, what troubles y—" Lord Elrond stopped as he saw what lay enclosed in the boy's small fingers. It was a butterfly – colored blue and green. It's wings were scarred and tattered, thin gashes as if it had been snagged unto a branch or some sharp edge.

Lord Elrond could see that the young boy was doing his absolute best not to be affected by the wound. "Ada? Who would do such a thing?" Estel asked with slight interest. The boy stroked the creature's injuries softly, and Lord Elrond could see the concern in his face.

"Perhaps it brought it upon itself. Even the wisest and fairest act rash from time to time, so let us not assume it was an outside force," Elrond said in his most serious tone. He then reached out to stroke the mystical insect as well, but it took air.

Along with the insect went Estel. He ran a little ways off with it, feet clamoring against the stone floor, until the butterfly flew over the courtyard wall and beyond the edge of Rivendell. He laughed and in the process managed to shoved his father near the thick obstacle. "I require your tallness, O great one," Estel recited.

"Why not just go around the wall and follow it through the gate?" Elrond insisted.

"Because that would be no fun! Too simple!" Estel giddily replied as he climbed over his father's sturdy shoulders. As persistent as a dwarf, the young human eventually reached the top (with _some_ help along the way), and he sat there, beaming down at his father.

Lord Elrond nodded in approval. "Estel please don't go looking for trouble, for trouble will find you," he warned, and made to leave, thinking the boy would explore the other side...

**oOo**

Estel grinned with newfound eagerness, all his white teeth gleaming in the sunlight. _Just what adventures lay beyond this side of Rivendell?_

A sudden flash of white and green. The consistent _clip_ _clop_ of horse hooves against earth.

What he saw though over the edge he was not expecting. Something strange rode this way - something that resembled a horse except...

His eyight blurred, and felt the air whoosh by his sides before he knew he was falling. _Wha?!_ He cried out in surprise and his hands clung desperately to the wall. "Ada!"

**oOo**

Lord Elrond heard the boy's alarmed cry, and rushed to the rescue. In receding fear, he awaited, arms wide open. Amid the confusion, Estel landed safely. Safety. Sensing the boy about to speak, Lord Elrond silenced him with a swift embrace.

Estel writhed in his arms. Torn between doubt and relief, the boy stuttered quickly, "A-Ada, you must fetch help! The butterfly flew a couple ways off and in the direction of a strange - he tried to find a word to describe what he had seen - a beast." His small shoulders shifted as he became excited. "Why, it was quite unusual!" Estel stopped, caught in the the scene he had witnessed.

"What? What kind of beast?" _Have the foul things finally breached our secure borders?_ "What have you seen my lad?!" Lord Elrond impatiently shook his shoulders.

Not fond of being shaken, the boy answered, "A horse with a golden blond mane had a bow and quiver strapped to his back, mantle flowing behind him! I didn't know that horses had a need-"

Lord Elrond cut the boy off quickly with a cross expression.

"This is folly. What foolish stories have your 'brothers' been feeding you? What you think you have seen must have been merely a dream," the Lord of Rivendell lectured, hands behind his back. He dared not tell his son that such things were stupid, and he had forgotten that this boy - no matter how hard he tried to be tough - was still a child. But maybe, the image held something more?

"Utter nonsense," he said without thinking, which was rare fo someone as wise as he.

"Hmph."

Estel stood against the wall, rocking his body back and forth impatiently. He kicked a stone in frustration. No more than a minute later did one of Lord Elrond's Rivendell guards arrive, baffled. The nimble incomer stood rigid, dark hair pushed behind his pointed ears, and fresh sweat lined the side of his cheek - rather strange, Elrond inferred.

"My lord, it seems we have an unexpected guest," he reported.

"What guest?" Elrond asked, annoyed. "I don't send out invitations this early for the annual wine-tasting competition! If it is the King of Mirkwood come to apologize for last year, throw him out on his arrogant —" Lord Elrond paused, remembering that Estel was right behind, then continued, "And it most certainly is not a special occasion! Whoever could it be?"

"Well said, but I think you had better come yourself to the healing room; it is rather urgent my liege," The guard said, carefully shooting his lord an inquisitive stare. Hmm. Interesting. Lord Elrond nodded, catching the drift. He pivoted, royal robe lightly touching his heels. Expertly swiping Estel along with him, he earned himself a whine.

"Adaaa no! I promised Elladan and Elrohir that I would assist them in archery!" The boy said in a raised voice. He struggled within the tight hold. Although fairly young, his days spent in the North had wielded this scrawny human into a tough fighter.

Elrond chuckled heartily. "Nay, you lie. Your brothers are both on patrols at the moment, and it is _you_ who needs archery practice young one."

Receiving a stern look, Estel grew silent at once. It seemed as though he would once again be bored out of his mind. Amidst his insufferable annoyance, he dragged the word: "Fineeeeeeee."

He would let himself be swept along... for the time being at least.

Lord Elrond raised a hand to his chin. For him to be personally requested to the healing room always meant something out of the ordinary. Perhaps a visitor from Mithrandir? No – however unexpected the wizard's visits were, he had always foreseen them.

He found himself outside the door to the healing room. As he entered, he was greeted by many elven maidens, babbling voices issuing from hither thither. The healers were usually so calm and patient. In his calculated musing, he pondered:_ Just what exactly had brought about this change?_

A tiny whimper.

The escaped sound from his son's lips urged him to look further; it was the final push to uncover this odd mystery. Filled with renewed understanding, he darted through the filling crowd trying to gain a better angle in which to view his new patient.

"He was found near Rivendell's entrance, my lord – slumped upon horseback he came," the elves explained all at once. Lord Elrond glanced warily at his son.

Estel gasped loud enough for a stubborn mountain troll to wake. Laying before him on a slender white bed was the most beautiful yet frightening scene he had ever witnessed.

Yes, he was a young Ranger and had seen gorgeous sights whence he traveled, but this fair creature was new.

A young male – or female elf – was sprawled across the feathery covers, body twitching every so often. The well-built body structure finally gave Estel the confirmation that it was a strange male elven warrior. His fair face was contorted in distress and his tousled, golden hair covered his eyes.

The figure's lithe clothing was matted with blood, whether it was his own or another's could not be certain. At this, he saddened. A patch of moonlight from a window above shone directly on the small group, reflecting the mysterious elf's face, his deathly white skin rivaling the pale light.

Estel was frozen, rooted to the spot.

"Ada? What kind of elf is this?" He asked after much independent musing.

No answer came. Frantically casting Estel aside, Lord Elrond rushed immediately to the figure's aid; and in silent fury at his own ignorance, he carefully skimmed over the slender wrist for a pulse, a beat, anything that could confirm that the princeling was indeed alive. The elf's fair face was contorted in distress, eyes - although half-lidded, unseeing, clouded. Resuming his legitimate power, he shouted to those around: "Prince Legolas has been injured!" His mind working swiftly, he looked up at the surrounding healers that had begun to gather and said," Boil some hot water and muster as many clean bandages." A flash of worry across their faces. "Send word to his father, King Thranduil. He can be found —"

Suddenly, a trembling hand grabbed Lord Elrond's raised arm, halting the order. The grip was firm, as though every ounce of strength was meant for this one action. Striking blue eyes met hazel ones and the Lord of Rivendell could see the silent plea that lay in them.

"N-Nay..."

Silence reigned over the two figures. Lord Elrond eased the shaky arm to the Legolas's side. Turning to the anxious guards waiting patiently behind him, he said curtly: "Never mind. Leaving me to my... work is the best you can do."

**oOo**

Legolas gave a sigh of relief before allowing his head to limply fall into Lord Elrond's arms. His usual grace as he fell was inattentive this time, and mangled hair veiled his dull eyes, burying the confused gaze that had concluded Elrond's decision to not call his father. His mind began sinking, a dusky cloud of affliction growing once again from his back. He could subconsciously feel his back oozing with the sticky substance – it maliciously ate away at his vitality.

A low voice, an octave lower than it should be, pleaded the words: _"Stay with me, stay with me,"_ over and over.

Refusing to give in to his emotions, Legolas turned his head to one side, hiding a wave of embarrassment. He was tired beyond measure. Shutting his eyes, he slipped into a dark kingdom, into a dreamless sleep.

**oOo**

Lord Elrond, being the ultimate healer of Rivendell, began probing and searching the lifeless body for hidden injuries. Turning the Prince over, he withheld what would be a deep exhale. The elf's fair back had only one wound – but that one wound was enough. A thin yet deep gash in the elf's clothing meant he had been stabbed. But by what?

He gently passed his thin fingers over the incision, drawing a sticky substance from it that was not blood. Legolas gave a small shiver at his touch but he did not wake. Wanting to know the extent of the pain Legolas was in, Lord Elrond lifted the silvery blond strands that covered his dull eyes.

Lord Elrond suddenly heard a small murmur of – what he did not know – issue from behind.

"Estel, everyone has left, can you not understand the importance that I be left alone?" Still recovering from his immobility, Estel clumsily pretended to walk away.

His act failed, however, and Lord Elrond groaned. "Estel, I know you wish to be a healer someday but 'tis not the time."

After a small silence, Elrond believed the young ranger to be gone, so he went back to his work. He silently wished the prince would awaken and fast, for he was growing weaker than necessary. When pulling back the still stunning hair that covered the prince's eyes, he noticed that Legolas's eyes were shut.

He sighed aloud, a sound that did not escape Estel's sharp hearing. The Lord of Rivendell knew that Elves always slept with their eyes open, rarely closed, and for Legolas to shut them meant he was in immense physical pain. This was a battle that the he would have to fight internally, and alone.

**oOo**

In and out of shadow, Legolas tumbled, awakening for short periods of time only to fall again. Shivering from the fevers, the elf's features turned gaunt and tattered. His fair skin drained of even more colour, and thin layer of sweat glistened upon it like silver dust. Trembling, his body fought against the invasive infection, causing him to writhe under the madness that had begun to take shape.

Thrice, Legolas awakened, mumbling inaudible words to the grey ceiling, hallucinations.

At work, Lord Elrond swiped a velvety cloth to clean and bind the wound gently, as to not disturb his patients' sleep. Making sure the lone Prince was laid as comfortable as possible, he stood up quickly, remembering he needed the herb Athelas to cure the sickening poison. Turning without warning, he nearly crashed into Estel.

"What in the heavens are you doing here?!" He half scolded, half stood astounded. How had he missed the child's presence? He groaned inwardly, his hazel eyes searching the scruffy-haired boy for explanation.

Estel payed no heed to his father. His gaze was more intent on the strange yet refined elf that lay gasping for breath every few seconds. He blinked once, realizing someone was standing directly in front of his view.

He looked up and after a few more seconds, he noticed that his father was near enough to collide with him. "Ada? Shouldn't you be assisting the prince?"

Lord Elrond mentally cursed himself. He had no time for games. Stamping his heavy boot on the floor in irritation, he opened his mouth to reply. "I want you to fetch the Athelas plant from the storage rooms." He made a slight gesture to the disturbed unconscious figure behind him. "It is rather urgent in case you haven't noticed, so move!"

The boy glanced up at his father. "Yes Ada, of course."

Stealing one last look at the strange golden haired elf in the bed, he turned and ran out of the room. His small footsteps echoed through the large halls, making other elves mumble in annoyance at the disturbed peacefulness.

Estel cared not. He was intrigued. He was going to act as a healer and help save the fascinatingly divine elf. If the limber being looked so fanciful in pain, he wondered what he looked like healthy. He glanced out an open window, and saw that eventide was rising, reminding him that time was not on his side...

**oOo**

Outside the corridors, into the whistling winds and beyond Rivendell, the King of Mirkwood gazed silently onwards at the same sky. What am I doing?

For once, Thranduil's calm attire slipped, his chilling mask faltering slightly. _"Goheno nin,_ _ionneg."_

His boot gently grazed over fallen damaged branches where Legolas had undoubtedly descended.

He simply stared at the wreckage.

And did nothing.

* * *

Goheno nin - Forgive me

Ionneg - My son

**Note: Don't be afraid to comment; I don't bite... Often. Not much Thranduil here unfortunately, but perhaps next chapter. Thanks to those who gave me comments; I made sure to PM you back. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER: 7 START OF SOMETHING NEW**

The Prince of Mirkwood could feel nothing – except the numb sensation of defeat.

Legolas groaned. He willed his mind to get rid of the woozy feeling that made him sick to the stomach. If being drunk felt like this, then he would never in all of Arda drink to excession if he got that chance. His brain was another tale. It consisted of intense throbbing as if he werre being hammered repeatedly by a dwarven axe or a weapon far far worse. Like a drum his head beat.

Everything was dark. Where was he? The pitch-blackness filled like water and he figured he was in some sort of cave.

He suddenly realized that his eyes were closed. How foolish of him.

He opened his eyes cautiously. Even as he did so, a wave of bright sunlight pierced his vision, and tears flooded. He winced. He instantly wished he were back among the glum ill-lit treetops of Mirkwood. If he wasn't in Mirkwood, then where in all of Middle-earth was he?

Suppressing a loud moan, he tried to ararnge himself upon the soft bed he lay in. Bed? At what hour had he stopped to rest?

Remembering faintly how he had subconsciously grasped Lord Elrond's arm, he speculated that he had awoken in Rivendell.

He noticed that his back no longer felt of the viscous poison he had been stabbed with. Legolas felt around his chest suspecting he was bandaged. He found that he was. A velvety soft-like fabric was woven around to staunch his back. When he didn't grasp his usual silver undertunic, he made a conclusion that he was partly shirtless. The faint breeze chilled his open skin, and lifting his head, the paleness of his skin confirmed that he was indeed not wearing it.

A sudden nauseating sickness engulfed his body during the movement. He cringed. Clenching his hands, he desperately tried to calm his heaving chest.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," a soft voice insisted.

Legolas turned gently, as to not disturb his aching head nor back. To his right sat a chestnut-haired boy, lean and young, staring intently at him. His elbows were propped up against his knees, hands holding up his head.

Legolas studied the boy's rugged features. He took in the scraggly brown hair and the expensively fine nut-colored attire that contained multiple holes. Legolas inferred that the boy enjoyed spending numerous days outdoors. Yet, what was this—this _child_ doing here of all places; Imladris, the last house of Elrond? Bard's rugged image came to mind, and he wondered if the child was the son of a merchant.

He remembered his vulnerability. His fingers grasped a sheet that resided near the edge of the bed, and Legolas pulled it up to his neck in one quick motion.

**oOo**

Estel gave a quiet giggle. His father had instructed that the silver elf was to be treated with high respect, for he was a noble elven warrior of Mirkwood. No doubt this strong-willed swordsman would resort to being overprotective of himself. Estel secretly made up his mind that when the elf was feeling healthier, he would ask if he were a royal guard or servant of King Thranduil, the austere ruler of the Woodland Realm. Of course he had never seen the king, but would ask just the same.

"_Le suilon! Le nathlam hî_." Estel spoke the elvish words clearly, hoping to get some response from the strange elf. He leaned in slightly on his stool – his rear ached from sitting too long.

**oOo**

The boys' perfectly spoken elvish barely took the prince by surprise (Legolas had his fill of surprising experiences from the past few days). However, he was not at all pleased. He did not appreciate the fact that the boy had been looking after his degraded position all this time. Where was Lord Elrond? Surely he was the one who had expertly healed his repulsive back? He pursed his lips shut. Why couldn't this child leave him be?

Estel blinked innocently, unfazed by the act of defiance.

Disguising a fleeting wince as a broken smile, Legolas tried to properly sit up, helplessly attempting to regain his pretentious stature. A sharp flare of pain snaked its way throughout his upper back and shoulders as he did so, earning a grunt of discomfort.

Estel immediately reached out to assist the struggling elf, but Legolas instinctively pulled away. Head held high, Legolas felt the need to do things himself. After all, it was his neglectfulness that had deposited him in this mess. Surely someone had already told the human child to respect him as the prince he was?

Noticing that the warrior felt uncomfortable around his childish behavior, Estel stood up and walked around directly in front of the elf, hands hidden behind his back. Legolas sneaked a glance at the human.

Giving the strange elf an awkward smile, Estel dramatically pulled the elf's green tunic from behind his back with an airy whoosh. "Ada took this off you to patch up your wounds. Believe me, he meant no disrespect."

Legolas shakily stood, Yet, even he staggered. And he clutched the sturdy bedpost to support his ill weight. At the broad movement, Legolas's vision spinned uncontrollably, as if some ill creature had sent him flying from a powerful blow to the head. When the room had ceased its mocking dance, he wondered if the boy was an illusion as well. Looking however, he regrettably made eye contact.

"Give me your hand," the boy offered.

Heart warmed by this small gesture, Legolas took it. He gave his thanks with a low, _"Ni *'lassui."_

He meant the words he spoke, for when the elf's strength waned, this boy had undoubtedly watched over him.

He swiped his piece of clothing, and cautiously slipped it over himself. Being careful not to rouse his injury, he put one arm tentatively through one silky sleeve, then the other. By focusing on whatever dignity that he still contained, he was able to dull the aching in his back and the grief emanating from his chest.

Unintentionally replaying what his father's actions intended, his heart grew heavy, strength deteriorating once more. Legolas's usual melodic voice faltered as he tried to put words together.

"W-Where is Lord Elrond?"

Estel, extremely tired from his watch, lazily let out a loud long yawn. The room grew silent.

Legolas looked around the brightly lit healing room in confusion. A large embroidered clear window lay directly above him, spilling daylight onto the clean tan floor. Other extra beds lined up with the one he accompanied and at the end of the clear hall was a doorless entrance where Elven healers slowly poured through, checking on others. However, it seemed that Legolas's space was the only one that was attended by a raggedy human. He gave the child a stern stare that meant he expected an answer instantly.

Estel grinned.

"Lord Elrond has decided to entrust the care of your recovery to his 'son'." He enthusiastically bowed, wavy hair dusting the ground. "Me! I am Estel, adopted son of Lord Elrond of Rivendell." The delighted boy grinned ear to ear at his revealing.

Legolas's collected appearance switched almost instantly into a look of pure shock, and he suspiciously said: "You are Lord Elrond's son? I have been under the intention that I lay unconscious under the watch of a lost human who had accidentally wandered into the great halls of Rivendell." Estel giggled at the elf's words.

"I am of the Dunedain," he announced. Estel twirled, and held his arms up high as if it were the best thing in Arda that could happen to himself.

Legolas fixed his gaze on the cold parched floor in embarrassment at his dilemma. Face flushing with shame at the cold greeting he had offered, he apologized. "I was not informed that Lord Elrond adopted a son. _Goheno nin_." Legolas lowered his head in respect and gave Estel a genuinely warm smile.

Estel nodded and excitedly kept talking. "I helped cure the poison that infiltrated your body by extracting juice from the Athelas plant and then placing it over your wound. It was quite an experience, for the poison effectively disappeared from your back after a short while. You see, I am a healer-in-training!" Stopping for a short breath, Estel tried to continue the speech he had rehearsed. "Lord Elrond has left two days ago, after healing your wounds, already reaching his appointed destination."

Two days ago? I was unconscious for two days? Legolas sighed deeply. No doubt his Ada would be coming to coldly rip out his innards very soon.

In his distraction, his grip slipped from the bedpost he had been holding, and he stumbled over the hard wooden stool. Tripping over the sturdy object, he struggled to maintain his balance. His stiff muscles faltered for the first time, due to the bedrest, leading to a large crash that erupted throughout the long hall. Half of Legolas's slender body was sprawled across the stool, the other half lay crumpled on the floor. Whispering a thankful prayer to Valar that he did not land clumsily on his back, he sighed. The pain felt now would have tripled.

As others rushed to lift him up, he pushed himself off the ground nimbly and walked to the best of his ability towards the doorless archway that led into other parts of the palace. Head proudly raised, Legolas attempted to show them that he was capable of walking by himself. As the other healers took the hint, they dispersed throughout the room, attending others nearby.

Legolas smiled secretly. For once he did not attract much attention, his bedraggled appearance the cause.

He just wanted to be outdoors, to feel winters's gust bite his smooth skin, promising his existence. He just wanted the thrilling adrenaline that circulated throughout his entire being. The felling as he swept through the trees, spirit ecstatic as he flew over them like a bird in flight. Lost in his blissful thought, he momentarily forgot that he had left the boy in suspense.

"I know not your name!"

Legolas stopped and turned, his unbraided hair drifting among the wind. He looked at the boy.

Lonely eyes met warm cheerful ones.

Estel let out a sigh of relief, and he tilting his head to one side. It wasn't much but it was definitely a start. He offered the imposing elf a sympathetic hand. "I know not your name," he repeated aagain. He expected a response.

**oOo**

Legolas looked down at the benevolent hand the boy held out. A warm sensation spread from his chest all throughout his aching body, making his heart beat slightly faster. His gaze softened, and he gently clasped the smaller boy's hand in his own. The touch felt comforting and pleasant, something he hadn't felt in quite a while. He exhaled a warm breath of relief, his heart thawing slightly out of its chaotic prison.

"Legolas. I am Legolas Greenleaf."

"_Peditham hi sui vellyn_?" Estel held his breath as he watched the elvish question process in the blond elf's head. A pause.

"Aye _henig_, we may..."

Its the last luring midnight

I'm afraid of starting something new

Something fresh like the biting frost come 'morrow

But I'm sure we'll make it grow

I don't want to be this person anymore

If it causes you to suffer inside

What used to be 'splendid' days, now causes me anguish

We'll make something that matters

All I've ever dreamed was something to live for

And it started with a new beginning

A wonderful panic of that one small touch

**oOo**

Once finished binding and healing the grotesque wound that scarred the prince's fair back, Lord Elrond had trusted his son Estel, with the well being of Legolas. He then swiftly ran to Rivendell's stables, and had delarted for Mirkwood; he sought Thranduil. For nearly two days he had traveled hard across the vast plain, finally arriving near the familiar twisted trees.

Remembering what he left behind, his face drooped at the thought that something could go wrong between the two. He dared not tell Estel of Legolas's true identity for he might not act as himself. And perhaps Legolas did not know that Estel was the future king of Gondor, Isildur's heir.

Smiling softly at their resemblance, he reminisced about his first meeting with the young ranger Aragorn...

**oOo**

_Aragorn son of Arathorn was nearly 8, traveling with his fellow ranger companions of the Dundaïn mountains. He was delivered to himself personally, accompanied by other rangers who had grown fond of the smallest of their troupe, at the request of Gandalf the Grey._

_"Tis is not a mistake Mithrindir?" Lord Elrond asked uneasily. He took the young boy by the hand and placed his robe around the tiny child. The clothing sagged poorly and the boy could barely be seen under the overflowing layers._

_"No mistake but our own," Gandalf said. "Clasp his palm in yours, his blood pure as water, valiant like his father, and a soul like pools of starlight; he __is the heir of Isildir, the one you housed and the one who accepted greed without reason, beyond temptation."_

_"Do not remind me," Lord Elrond commanded harshly. It was by his own fault he had not raised the man well. "What make you think this one will be any different?"_

_A blinding flash. A vision. The boy had grown, wielding a sword inherited of blue flame and white steel. The future Lord of the White Tree._

_Robbed of breath, he leaned agains the wall for support, his eyesight growing sharper, AFrer several moments, the Lord of Imladris nodded and raised the boy's chin up, examing the scrapes and bruises that outlined this sturdy being._

_"You are now Estel, no longer known as_ _Strider here." He hugged the human with care. "You are now my son and you will be housed here. Is that understood?"_

_"Yes, my lord," the young boy pronounced with difficulty._

_Softening, Lord Elrond and Gandalf looked down at the future ruler of Ithilien, of Men. They did not have to do much at all. With the change of a human name Aragorn to an elvish one, Estel, wariness among the elves rapidly dwindled. As Estel picked up the Elvish language, his transformation was complete._

_Lord Elrond had expertly molded the lone ranger into a half-elf just like himself. Of course, this would all reverse once the human was old enough to be king._

**oOo**

Lord Elrond tilted his head, now aiming his attention on the events that lay ahead. No doubt after King Thranduil received the news would he go on a furious rampage.

Shuddering at the thought, Lord Elrond reached the edge of the enchanted wood. Taking one last look at the dull rays of Anor that shone through the clouds, he inhaled a frosty breath. He coughed slightly as the freezing air tickled his lungs. Shifting his legs, he guided his noble steed onward.

Suddenly, before entering hthe disfigured forest, Lord Elrond's horse nearly ran into Thranduil's shimmering silver stallion himself. Clearly startled, his own auburn horse reared up onto its muscular hind legs, backing away ever so slowly. "Whoah whoah!" Lord Elrond tried severely to calm his apprehensive horse by stroking its mane.

King Thranduil was slightly puzzled. After spending two days of search, he had no leads, not a single trace as to the whereabouts of Legolas within Mirkwood's perimeter. He had decided to take things into his own hands. Leaving trusted elves again as guards, he had mounted the most opulent horse he could locate in of all of Mirkwood's stables, wanting to still display his legitimate power. With his elk deceased, this noble beast would have suffice.

Followed closely by his most trusted elven soldiers, he made for the next place his son must be hiding: Rivendell.

He did not anticipate however, the bizarre appearance of Lord Elrond himself waiting just outside the edge of Mirkwood.

"What do you think you are doing so close to Mirkwood?" Thranduil coolly asked, not wanting to provoke the Lord of Rivendell as he had done several times in the past. He gave Elrond an unwelcoming look, but remembered that he was not talking to someone beneath him. He was speaking to another ruler of Middle-earth. Dropping his hostile gaze, he switched to business.

"Have you seen my son around these parts?"

Ignoring the direct question, Lord Elrond attempted a friendly countenance. "Good den, my lord. It has been far too long for I have not seen you since last year's wine arrangement. We really must meet every so of—" Elrond stopped abruptly when he noticed that Thranduil's eyes were closed. The Elvenking was paying no heed to him.

"You always induce me into such unnecessary talk."

Thranduil raised his hands to adjust his spider-like brooch on his chest as a distraction. His extensive silvery garment flowed down to his knees. "So cease your mindless babbling at once and give me an honest explanation to where you are hiding my son."

A slight pause. Elrond's gaze had found the floor.

"No—I have changed my mind," Thranduil said coolly. "Tell me nothing. No doubt he is in Rivendell's palace, or you would not embark from your home to find me here."

Lord Elrond glanced away in less than a heartbeat; all plans of arrangement had failed.

The King of Mirkwood curled smirked. "Thank you, my lord, for your cooperation," he snickered.

Whipping his hand in the air with satisfaction, he urged their regal horses on alongside a few whisks of Silvan tongue. "Let us go then." Thranduil brandished his other hand as a sign for his guards to follow.

"That means you as well."

Even with his back turned, Lord Elrond knew immediately who Thranduil was addressing. Sighing in concern at the lack of dignity he possessed, Lord Elrond tailed the king. He silently prayed that Legolas would be strong enough to confront his brazen father in two days time. He wondered how the two were faring. Were they friends now?

Gazing at the barren plain that separated themselves from their fathers, Elrond breathed deeply.

"O Valor please help them get along. I am worried they might do something foolish."

* * *

Ni *'lassui - Thank you from my heart

Le suilon - I greet you

Le nathlam hî - You are welcome here

Peditham hi sui vellyn - May we speak as friends?

Henig - My child


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 9: Tell It To My Heart**

Legolas half limped-half strode across Rivendell's courtyard, Estel tailing not too far behind. The boy was trying to keep up with the elf's agile pace, for injuries did not bay the prince's swiftness, wounded and all.

Used to the overwhelming freedom, the bedraggled elf needed fresh air; to take in the sights and earthy scents of the outdoors.

Legolas stopped so that the breathless child could catch up.

He marveled at the beautifully sculpted elven statues that decorated the courtyard while he waited, icy layers masking them as ominous, mysterious even. The more he looked into the hollow eyes of one particular statue of an elf warrior, the more he wanted to brush the snowflakes that eerily covered the stone. Utterly bewitching; those empty unseeing eyes and cold outward stone was just like his father.

At the sound of loud crunching footsteps, he rolled his eyes to the sky, all thoughts vanquished.

"You need not follow me," he said.

Estel looked up. "I want to know more about you, and well...the elves of Mirkwood," he cautiously announced. Estel glanced away at once, as if curiosity was a crime.

Legolas gave the boy a small grin, for he still found it abnormal that a human wanted to know the ways of an elf. "So, in other words...you wish to _study_ me?"

Estel hid a developing blush insantly. "N-nay and yea," he stuttered uneasily, wondering if he was making the enticing elf uncomfortable. Enticing? When had that come to mind? Shaking his own thoughts away, he persistently continued. "Are you by any chance King Thranduil's royal guard or servant?"

Legolas, paying no heed to the boys words suddenly snapped, attentative at once. A near laugh formed, but the effort was a large strain on his body. It turned into a wince. "Me? A royal servant of the ruler of the Woodland Realm? How rude." the elf scoffed loudly. "It is not your place to say such words." He frowned. "My child, funnily enough, nay I am not. I am-"

Coincidentally, a familiar creature fluttered near the elf's face, drawing nearer and nearer.

Legolas stiffened, face calming immediately, not wanting to alrarm the delicate insect. The elf's hair, even with the smallest patch of gloomy sunlight, glowed brightly against the dull background. With most flowers asleep 'till spring, the chilled butterfly must have directed its flight to what stood out most amongst the wintry atmosphere. With its wing badly torn and stiff with heavy snow, it could not migrate towards the land it had once known as home.

Legolas raised a finger to attract the confused insect, expertly guiding the butterfly towards his smooth hands.

Estel watched in silent awe as the silver-haired Legolas pounced, like feline to prey, whipping his other hand around carefully but quick, cupping the insect in between his soft palms. The elf then quickly pivoted towards Rivendell's palace, leaving behind a shocked boy to process the swift reflexes the warrior had displayed.

Estel still mouth gaped open, relaxed on a frost-kissed bench near the courtyard. Did all Mirkwood elves hold similar characteristics to. He had heard from Lord Elrond himself say that the elves of Mirkwood were less wise but more dangerous and took their pride to heart. But surely they were not this capable of agility?

Still deep in thought, he failed to notice the snowflakes that were beginning to form around him, encasing him like his Ada's gentle hugs.

Suddenly, two arms grabbed his shoulders, gentle yet firm, causing Estel to jump a few feet in surprise. He heard faint laughing behind him, and he grinned. Turning as fast as could manage, he expected to find Legolas behind the startling act.

Who he saw however was another surprise, as his face was thwacked with the slushy freezing substance. It smeared his already dirtied face with watery grime, the remnants of the snowball dripping down to the ground.

The area grew quiet again, not a single sound to be heard.

"Elrohir! Elladan! No fair! I know you are around here somewhere!" Estel giggled, scanning the courtyard for any trace of his 'brothers'. Molding a jagged snowball into his raw hands, he promised that this would definitely hurt.

As soon as he readied his aim around the clearing, he was bombarded by several more snowballs, many of them directed to his stomach causing him to fall on his back.

He let out a loud "Oof!" in surprise, his ice ball falling next to him. But his descend was a relatively soft one, like landing on a pillow, for the ground was no longer sleek with ice. Over the past few minutes, it had collected fluffy white mounds of perfect snow; wonderful for a snowball fight.

Hearing his brother's snorts from their expertly picked hiding spots, Estel chuckled and sprawled his body across the snowbank, assuming a deathly appearance. He had yet to fool his brothers!

**oOo**

Legolas released the dainty butterfly inside, watching it flutter down the warm halls. He hoped it would find peace in the tranquil household of Rivendell.

Suddenly his pointed ears twitched, picking up a small familiar cry of distress from outdoors.

Sprinting to where he had last left Estel, he was just in time to witness the boys' second pummeling and the child plunge lifelessly to the ground.

Narrowing his eyes to locate the culprit, he reached for his weapons, feeling deeply concerned at Ester's limp position. His hand grabbed naught but air however, and he inwardly groaned. Of course he had left his weapons in the healing room.

Breathing heavily as a reminding ache pursed from the light scar on his back, he figured he would have to make do without them.

His keen eyes searched the clearing. And what he found was two heavily armed Imladris elves bickering quietly amongst themselves, concealed by a brambled hedge. How dare they harm the innocent child without a fair fight!

Gliding over the fine snow, he leapt into the air above them. The shouts of bewilderment from the confused two was like a sweet melody to his ears. They could barely register the lightening-quick attack. But my, what speed!

In astonishment at the agility of the mysterious elf, they were forced to mount a defense. Using their arms as shields, they shot hostile glares at their unknown enemy, flares of confusion receding.

But the prince reacted as well, twisting gracefully to their unprotected sides, letting his legs cause the damage. He expertly kicked one elf in the shin, not enough to break but merely catch him off guard, and twisted his other leg to catch the second elf's ankle, unbalancing him. Faltering, their technique slipped but upon doing so, they retaliated. Elrohir and Elladan instantly moved into the offensive, their days spent training instinctively taking effect.

And a sudden fierceness not seen from before, arose from them.

Legolas blinked confusedly as he looked closer at both of the elves' strikingly similar features. _Two elves or one?_ He focused on finding a suitable rhythm to match theirs, his hair blazing furiously around him. They were such magnificent opponents and if he wasn't blinded by revenge, he may have admitted them to be well-trained warriors.

Elladan and Elrohir gave each other a triumphant look. As twins, it was easy to send others into a state of craze, for they moved in perfect sync with one another as if they were one being. If Elrohir attacked from the right, Elladan would defend from the left and vice versa. Combined, they matched the silver-haired elf that had caught them off guard.

Sure he was good, but they were better.

"Elrohir, Lle merna salk?"

Silent as the wintry weather, Elrohir grinned with confidence at his twin's statement, battle-spirits rising as their victory grew ever nearer. And with ease, they began to swiftly run circles in opposite directions around the helpless silver elf.

Legolas could do nothing but stand still, stamina broken, panting heavily. _Kill them or admit defeat_? What a ridiculous question to ask himself!

Pride geting the better of him, and a dangerous glinto shone in his eyes.

**oOo**

Estel, acting out his stilled postion, noticed that no one had come to fetch him. Such a pity.

Suppressing the need to pout over such a childish thing, he got up, brushing the snow off of his breeches and tunic. Shaking the rest of the snow off his muddy face, he turned at the sound of strange noises and the clamor of weapons?

**oOo**

It was Legolas's turn to smirk with assurance. By diverting his attention to one of the brothers, he was able to stylishly lunge forward and grab one of their swords. And in one swift motion he unsheathed it, clenching his hand tighter around the hilt until his palm ached.

He raised it upwards instantly, liking the sturdy feel of a weapon in his hands once more, and brought it down with ease. He let it sing through the frosty air and he grew excited with pride, the elves frightened expression a sight for sore eyes.

"What are you doing? Prestad?"

A familiar voice stopped him, suspending his raised sword arm, right above one of the twin's puzzled head. Elladan and Elrohir gave each other a dark look.

"Estel you know this elf?" One of the brothers asked, staring at the willowy being before them, who had come so close to killing them.

Legolas, confused, suddenly felt a wave of understanding slap his face. "You were merely playing." He looked away, shame turning his pearl cheeks into a frenzy of rose blossoms.

"Legolas, these are my twin brothers, Elladan and Elrohir." Estel shakily waved the two nervous twins closer so that they could meet. Well...meet the right way he thought.

Each of them offered their own sign of respect, whether it was a bow or a nod. Estel then motioned to Legolas. "And this is Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm." He grinned as a brilliant idea popped into his head. "H-he's my bodyguard."

Surprisingly, the lie did not feel like a lie, but rather convincing and why not? The twins looked at each other, sending accusing glances at the prince. However, they nodded their approval, their wary stare not leaving the stranger for a single second. Smiling uneasily, they observed the golden haired elf clearly for the first time.

He was immensely strong, and endowed with tremendous vitality that most elves ceased to have. But his hair stood out the most amongst the white background, quite dazzling. The loose silky golden strands danced in the cold, stopping all elves who passed just to glance. It was extremely rare for an elf to have gold shimmering hair, so of course strangers would stare.

A Sindarin elf. Such a beauteous race was limited, dwindling like the last patch of snow on a Spring morn.

Elladan and Elrohir gave their brother an envious look.

Legolas rolled his eyes. His back felt numb and he just wanted to flee from prying eyes that bothered him so. Giving the twins their sword back, he apologized and walked away, his light boots barely making a sound as he padded over fresh snow.

"Halt! Meet me by the archery fields?!" A small voice called. Legolas did not need to turn to realize who had spoken.

"Aye. If that is what you wish. Let me retrieve my bow," he replied, covering up his embarrassment. Legolas nimbly ran to the healing room, stopping to grasp his decorated bow before heading out. He paused slightly, remembering his hair was unkept and he braided his usual piece of hair and then expertly tucked it behind his ear.

Deep in thought, he concluded that the boy had wonderful ideas. He had a sense of rebelliousness about him just like two other elves he knew: himself and Tauriel.

A flashback of Tauriel's betrayal ensnared his mind, creating a tangle of knots in his stomach. His heartbroken chest heaved a little as he refused to break down and sob, but he ignored it by focusing on somthing, anything he could. _Estel _came to mind?

They had just met, but the boy's warm grin seemed to move him, if only a bit. Estel had said he had wanted to know more about him, didn't he?

Legolas shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. He just needed some time in peace, before his Adar shattered it with his haughty appearance...

**oOo**

Estel could barely contain a yell of excitement as he watched the elf walk away.

Legolas must be feeling down for his mistake, and he decided to cheer him up. Giving his shocked brothers a playful smirk and a 'are you jealous?' look, he ran past them to his room.

Opening the plain wooden door, he glanced inside. Clothes were untidily left on the silky carpet beneath his feet and dozens upon dozens of studies lay scattered in every direction. His elegant bed was unmade, blankets thrown mercilessly on the floor.

"And where is my feather pen?" Not bothering to tidy up, he plowed through his things, breaking some items along the way. "Aha! The trouble to find such little things!" He exclaimed. It was attached to the wall, held there by some sort of sticky old dessert stain.

He located his desk among the rubbish and dipped his quill into the ink pad that lay on top. Using the back of an old ripped study paper as parchment, he began writing as fast as he could.

_I am very thankful that you came to my "rescue". Yea it was my brothers, but I have decided that you are loyal. I know you would have avenged my death to the best of your ability just the same. Although we know naught about each other, I feel that you are close to me. A brethren. You bring me joy like my Ada. Dost thou feel the same? I think this is the start of something good. Let us spend ur days on many adventures together!_

_Signed,_

_**Aragorn**, my real name_

He made his name nice and bold so that Legolas could see it right away. Throwing his pen recklessly to the side, he read it over. After a while, he gave a long sigh of defeat, afraid that his letter would register to the elf as dumb.

He pocketed the paper anyways and glanced outside, just in time to see a bright figure leave the gate. It was now or never! He grabbed his sturdy wooden bow, and ran through the halls.

However, he fumbled with the small paper in his hand and it floated upwards and caught the breeze, out of the palace and near Rivendell's archery field.

"Someone catch that letter!" He shouted at unmoving elven guards, but they shook their heads sympathetically, refusing to leave their posts. Waving his arms desperately to catch it, Estel hollered in fear for anyone to catch it, as if flew deeper into the fading light of the glade.

It took flight, the breeze picking up its pace, racing ever closer to the archery fields. "Ai no!" Estel worriedly began sweating as he realized whose hands it could possibly end up in.

**oOo**

Legolas caressed his bow, eyes glittering with excitement as he witnessed what all of Arda's beautiful outdoors offered. He stood, feet firmly locked to the ground, readying his bow, ambitiously attaching a thin elven arrow from his quiver and drawing the string.

As a familiar butterfly floated before him once more, he momentarily paused his act, head cocked warily at the strange sight. As it got closer, he noticed that its minuscule legs were holding something peculiar. A small piece of parchment?

Grinning, he switched positions, brandishing his thin bow in the direction of the faint colour of glowing blue. "Challenge accepted." In less than a second, he released the string, thin arrow penetrating the frosty air, singing as it did, and with a light rip the prince knew he had succeeded in his shot. The lone butterfly, task completed, floated daintily towards Rivendell once again.

**oOo**

Estel gasped, absorbed in the extraordinary feat Legolas had succeeded. The riveting elf had managed to precisely shoot the letter among the breeze. What skill! He wasn't even sure his brothers were half as good as he, but he would never tell them that.

Still engrossed at the scene, he sprinted as hard as his small legs could carry him in the direction he had seen the arrow fly. He wanted to retrieve it before the elf could read his foolish writing. He had to.

Lodged in the chilled dry bark of a leafy tree, he snatched the letter from the arrowhead, unaware that Legolas himself was standing behind him, passionately stroking his prized bow.

"Does that belong to you?" The prince asked. He did not look up, more interested in polishing his weapon.

Estel shivered at the thought that Legolas had come so close to reading it. "Yea." Changing the subject he grinned, "Come. You promised you would assist me in archery." He raced off, in the direction of the targets, trying ineffectively to hide his bashful face that was quickly becoming a cherry-red.

Legolas raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the secretive human and then smiled brightly as he grabbed his bow, padding silently after raggedy Estel.

Shaking his head, he felt his heart warm slightly, as he stole a glance at the beaming child that looked up to him.

**oOo**

The hours flew by like minutes as they stood side by side, expertly shooting, the moon their guide and the misty night their audience. Every so often, Legolas would look up and elegantly whisper encouraging remarks to the focused boy. With every arrow they shot, their friendship grew tremendously, until both their faces glowed white with starlight as the moon reflected their freedom.

As Legolas bent down to adjust the boys' stance, Estel dropped his bow to the ground and suddenly embraced the golden-haired elf in a warm gratified hug.

He felt the icy-eyed elf stiffen beneath him, but Estel did not care in the slightest. This was absolutely the best feeling in all of Middle-Earth. His rough small hands entwined themselves in loose golden hair, willing the larger elf to hug him back. "I give you my thanks. _Le melin_."

The simple words sent Legolas's mind into a fit of shudders, his body tense. Legolas's speech failed, leaving him in stunned silence.

His brain immediately erupted into a hysteria of emotion, driving his mind into a craze of unknown feelings. For once in his ageless life, he knew not what to do or moreover how to react. It was as if someone had kindled a spark of light inside, then doused it, then rekindled it again.

A light blush unwillingly flowered onto his smooth face, radiating a rosy heat of embarrassment. He took the younger wild-haired boy into his awkward slender arms, gently patting his back in respect.

And he pulled away.

For surely this was not reality? Perhaps a mirage of the mind.

Legolas stood up quickly, and staggered backwards, still dazed with astonishment. How could anyone learn to like him? He was a prince; withdrawn, relentless, adamant, and single-minded. Did he leave out headstrong?...Also headstrong.

"Lego-las?" Estel waved a tender hand in front of the distant eyes that were focused on something far off. He giggled at the elf's absurd expression.

Legolas was indeed in some other distant land. H was lost in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague byy his lack of words to express them. Sighing, he tried once more.

"Agorel vae."

Th recovering elf motioned to all the perfect arrows Estel had pierced throughout the hearts of the targets. _And mine as well_, he thought. Although attempting to remain cool and collect, the warmth from the embrace lingered, and he felt his breath hasten. The new feeling seemed to melt his chest into water. Yet it slightly warmed him as well, thawing at his unyielding heart that wandered aimlessly after Tauriel and the pride of his father.

He could only stare into the small twinkling auburn eyes that had given him a reason for his existence. And Estel's into his...

**oOo**

Mind distracted, his ears failed to pick up the rumbling of crushing hooves approaching Rivendell's gate. Legolas, head in the clouds, failed to hear his imperious father arriving. And lastly, he failed to notice the ire elf king, earnestly scanning Rivendell for his son.

Lle merna salk - Do you want to dance?

Prestad - Is there trouble?

Le melin - I love you

Agorel vae - You did well


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9: TELL IT TO MY HEART**

Legolas half limped half strode across Rivendell's courtyard, Estel tailing not too far behind. The boy was trying to keep up with the elf's agile pace, for injuries did not bay the prince's swiftness, wounded and all.

Used to the overwhelming freedom, his bedraggled self yearned for fresh air; to take in the sights and fresh scents of the outdoors. Sighing, he stopped so that the breathless child could catch up.

His eyes swept the scene around him. He came here to rest and seek the company of the trees and snow of winter. Beautiful elven sculptures decorated the courtyard, icy layers masking them as ominous, mysterious. The more he looked into the hollow eyes of one particular statue of an elf warrior, the more he wished to brush the frost that eerily covered the stone. Utterly bewitching; those empty eyes and cold outward stone were features that made up his father. His father. Should he return?

At the sound of loud crunching footsteps, he rolled his eyes to the sky, all thoughts vanquished.

"You need not follow me," he said.

Estel looked up. "I want to know more about you, and well...the elves of Mirkwood," he cautiously announced. Estel glanced away at once, as if curiosity was a crime.

Legolas smile, his lips coral against the winter. He still found it abnormal that a human wished to know the ways of an elf. "So, in other words... You wish to _study_ me?"

Estel hid a developing blush instantly. "N-nay and yea," he stuttered uneasily, wondering if he was making the enticing elf uncomfortable. Enticing? When had that come to mind? Shaking his own thoughts away, he persisted: "Are you by any chance King Thranduil's royal guard or perhaps his servant?"

Legolas, paying no heed to the boys words suddenly snapped, attentative at once. A near laugh formed, but the effort was a large strain on his body. It turned into a wince. "Me? A royal servant of the ruler of the Woodland Realm? How rude," the elf scoffed. "It is not your place to say such words." He frowned. "My child, funnily enough, nay I am not. I am—"

Coincidentally, a familiar creature fluttered near the elf's face.

Legolas stiffened, and he calmed immediately, not wanting to alarm the insect. He raised a finger to attract it, expertly guiding the butterfly towards his smooth hands.

Estel watched in silent awe as the silver-haired Legolas pounced, like feline to prey, whipping his other hand around carefully but quick, cupping the insect in between his soft palms. The elf then quickly pivoted towards Rivendell's palace, leaving behind a shocked boy to process the swift reflexes the warrior had displayed.

Estel still mouth gaped open, relaxed on a frost-kissed bench near the courtyard. Did all Mirkwood elves hold similar characteristics to. He had heard from Lord Elrond himself say that the elves of Mirkwood were less wise but more dangerous and took their pride to heart. But surely they were not this capable of agility?

Still deep in thought, he failed to notice the snowflakes that were beginning to form around him, encasing him like his Ada's gentle hugs.

Suddenly, two arms grabbed his shoulders, gentle yet firm, causing Estel to jump a few feet in surprise. He heard faint laughing behind him, and he grinned. Turning as fast as could manage, he expected to find Legolas behind the startling act.

Who he saw however was another surprise, as his face was thwacked with the slushy freezing substance. It smeared his already dirtied face with watery grime, the remnants of the snowball dripping down to the ground.

The area grew quiet again, silence reigning.

"Elrohir! Elladan!" Estel called. "No fair! I know you are around here somewhere!" He bent to mold a snowball with his small hands, the frost biting into his skin and turning them cherry. As he readied his aim around the clearing, he was bombarded by several more snowballs, leading him to fall on his back.

He let out a loud "Oof!" in surprise, his ice ball falling next to him. But his descend was a relatively soft one, like landing on a pillow, for the ground was no longer sleek with ice. Over the past few minutes, it had collected fluffy white mounds of perfect snow; wonderful for a snowball fight.

Hearing his brother's snorts from their expertly picked hiding spots, Estel chuckled and sprawled his body across the snowbank, assuming a deathly appearance. He had yet to fool his brothers!

**oOo**

Legolas released the dainty butterfly inside, watching it flutter down the warm halls. He hoped it would find peace in the tranquil household of Rivendell.

Suddenly his pointed ears twitched, picking up a small familiar cry of distress from outdoors.

Sprinting to where he had last left Estel, he was just in time to witness the boys' second pummeling and the child plunge lifelessly to the ground.

Narrowing his eyes to locate the culprit, he reached for his weapons, feeling deeply concerned at Ester's limp position. His hand grabbed naught but air however, and he inwardly groaned. Of course, he had left his weapons in the healing room. Breathing heavily as a reminding ache pursed from his back, he figured he would have to make do without them.

His keen eyes searched the clearing. And what he found was two heavily armed elves of Imladris bickering quietly amongst themselves, concealed by a hedge. They were mumbling something about whether they should strike again.

Legolas's furrowed in rising ire. How dare they harm the innocent child without a fair fight!

Gliding over the fine snow, he leapt into the air above them. The shouts of bewilderment from the confused two was like a sweet melody to his ears, for they could barely register the lightening-quick attack.

In astonishment at the agility of the mysterious elf, they were forced to mount a defense. Using their arms as shields, they shot hostile glares at their unknown enemy, flares of confusion receding.

But the prince reacted as well, twisting gracefully to their unprotected sides, letting his legs cause damage. He expertly kicked one elf in the shin, not enough to break but merely catch him off guard, and twisted his other leg to catch the second elf's ankle, unbalancing him. Faltering, their technique slipped, but upon doing so, they lashed out in retaliation. THe two brothers switched into the offensive, their days spent training instinctively taking effect.

And a sudden fierceness not seen from before, arose from them.

Legolas blinked confusedly as he looked closer at both of the elves' strikingly similar features. _Two elves or one?_ He focused on finding a suitable rhythm to match theirs, his hair blazing furiously around him. They were such magnificent opponents and if he wasn't blinded by revenge, he may have admitted them to be well-trained warriors.

Elladan and Elrohir gave each other a triumphant look. As twins, it was easy to send others into a state of craze, for they moved in perfect sync with one another as if they were one being. If Elrohir attacked from the right, Elladan would defend from the left and vice versa. Combined, they matched the silver-haired elf that had caught them off guard.

Sure he was good, but they were better.

"Elrohir, _Lle merna salk?_"

Silent as the wintry atmosphere, Elrohir grinned with confidence at his twin's statement, battle-spirits rising as their victory grew ever nearer. With ease, they began to swiftly sprint circles in opposite directions around the helpless silver elf.

Legolas could do nothing but stand still, stamina receding like the tide, panting heavily. _Kill them or admit defeat_? What a ridiculous question to ask himself!

Pride getting the better of him, a dangerous glint shone in his eyes.

**oOo**

Estel, acting out his stilled postion, noticed that no one had come to fetch him. Such a pity.

Suppressing the need to pout over such a childish thing, he got up, brushing the snow off of his breeches and tunic. Shaking the rest of the snow off his muddy face, he turned at the sound of strange noises and the clamor of weapons?

**oOo**

It was Legolas's turn to smirk with assurance. By diverting his attention to one of the brothers, he was able to stylishly lunge forward and grab one of their swords. With one swift motion he had unsheathed it, and clenched his hand tighter around the hilt until his palm ached.

He raised it upwards instantly, liking the sturdy feel of a weapon in his hands once more, and brought it down. It sang through the frosty air like a screeching bird.

"What are you doing? _Prestad_?"

A familiar voice stopped him, suspending his raised sword arm right above the twin's puzzled heads. Elladan and Elrohir gave each other a dark look. In unison, they disarmed the silver elf quickly.

"Estel you know this elf?" One of the brothers asked, staring at the willowy being before them, who had come so close to killing them.

Legolas, suddenly felt a wave of understanding slap his face. "You – you were merely playing." He looked away, shame turning his pearl cheeks into a frenzy of rose blossoms.

"Legolas, these are my twin brothers, Elladan and Elrohir." Estel shakily waved the two nervous twins closer so that they could be introduced.

"Mae Govannen Elohir," he glanced at them both through narrowed eyes, "Elladan."

Each of them offered their own sign of respect, whether it was a bow or a nod. Estel then motioned to Legolas. "And this is Legolas Greenleaf of the Woodland Realm." He grinned as a brilliant idea popped into his head. "H-he's my bodyguard."

Surprisingly, the lie ceases to feel like a lie, but rather convincing and why not? The twins looked at each other, sending glimped of distrust. However, they nodded their approval, their wary stare not leaving the stranger for a single second. Smiling uneasily, they observed the golden haired elf clad in brown and green clearly for the first time.

He was immensely strong, and endowed with tremendous vitality that most elves ceased to have. But his hair stood out the most amongst the white background, quite dazzling. The loose silky golden strands danced in the cold, a rare sight.

A Sindarin elf. Such a beauteous race was limited, dwindling like the last patch of snow on a Spring morn.

Elladan and Elrohir gave their brother an envious look.

Legolas rolled his eyes. His back felt numb and he just wanted to flee from prying eyes that bothered him so. Giving the twins their sword back, he apologized and walked away, his light boots barely making a sound as he padded over fresh snow.

"Halt! Meet me by the archery fields?!" A small voice called. Legolas did not need to turn to realize who had spoken.

"Aye. If that is what you wish. Let me retrieve my bow," he replied, covering up his embarrassment. Legolas nimbly ran to the healing room, stopping to grasp his decorated bow before heading out. He paused slightly, remembering his hair was unkept and he braided his usual piece of hair and then expertly tucked it behind his ear.

Deep in thought, he concluded that the boy had wonderful ideas. He had a sense of rebelliousness about him just like two other elves he knew: himself and Tauriel.

A flashback of Tauriel's betrayal ensnared his mind, creating a tangle of knots in his stomach. His heartbroken chest heaved a little. He refused to break down and sob, so he ignored it by focusing on something, anything he could. _Estel _came to mind?

They had just met, but the boy's warm grin seemed to move him, if only a bit. Estel had said he had wanted to know more about him, didn't he?

Legolas shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. He just needed some time in peace, before his Adar shattered it with his haughty appearance...

**oOo**

Estel could barely contain a yell of excitement as he watched the elf walk away.

Legolas must be feeling down for his mistake, and he decided to cheer him up. Giving his shocked brothers a playful smirk and a 'are you jealous?' look, he gave the twin's seperate hugs and then made to leave for his room.

Opening the plain wooden door, he glanced inside. Clothes were untidily left on the silky carpet beneath his feet and dozens upon dozens of studies lay scattered in every direction. His elegant bed was unmade, blankets thrown mercilessly on the floor.

"And where is my feather pen?" Not bothering to tidy up, he plowed through his things, breaking some items along the way. "Aha! The trouble to find such little things!" He exclaimed. It was attached to the wall, held there by some sort of sticky old dessert stain.

He located his desk among the rubbish and dipped his quill into the ink pad that lay on top. Using the back of an old ripped study paper as parchment, he began writing as fast as he could.

_I am very thankful that you came to my "rescue". Yea it was my brothers, but I have decided that you are loyal. I know you would have avenged my death to the best of your ability just the same. Although we know naught about each other, I feel that you are close to me. A brethren. You bring me joy like my Ada. Dost thou feel the same? I think this is the start of something good. Let us spend ur days on many adventures together!_

_Signed,_

_**Aragorn**, my real name_

He made his name nice and bold so that Legolas could see it right away. Throwing his pen recklessly to the side, he read it over. After a while, he gave a long sigh of defeat, afraid that his letter would register to the elf as dumb.

He pocketed the paper anyways and glanced outside, just in time to see a bright figure leave the gate. It was now or never! He grabbed his sturdy wooden bow and ran through the halls.

However, he fumbled with the small paper in his hand and it floated upwards and caught the breeze, out of the palace and near Rivendell's archery field.

"Someone catch that letter!" He shouted at unmoving elven guards, but they shook their heads sympathetically, refusing to leave their posts. Waving his arms desperately to catch it, Estel hollered in fear for anyone to catch it, as if flew deeper into the fading light of the glade.

It took flight, the breeze picking up its pace, racing ever closer to the archery fields. No! A sheen of sweat washes over his body and cold fear clutched his heart.

**oOo**

Legolas caressed his bow, eyes glittering with excitement as he witnessed what all of Arda's beautiful outdoors offered. He stood, feet firmly locked to the ground, readying his bow, ambitiously attaching a thin elven arrow from his quiver and drawing the string.

As a familiar butterfly floated before him once more, he momentarily paused his act, head cocked warily at the strange sight. As it got closer, he noticed that something fragile was dancing among the breeze. A small piece of parchment?

Grinning, he switched positions, brandishing his thin bow in the direction of the faint colour of glowing blue. "Challenge accepted." In less than a second, he released the string, thin arrow penetrating the frosty air, singing as it did, and with a light rip the prince knew he had succeeded in his shot.

**oOo**

Estel gasped, absorbed in the extraordinary feat Legolas had succeeded. The riveting elf had managed to precisely shoot the letter among the breeze. What skill! He wasn't even sure his brothers were half as good as he, but he would never tell them that.

Still engrossed at the scene, he sprinted as hard as his small legs could carry him in the direction he had seen the arrow fly. He wanted to retrieve it before the elf could read his foolish writing. He had to.

Lodged in the chilled dry bark of a leafy tree, he snatched the letter from the arrowhead, unaware that Legolas himself was standing behind him, passionately stroking his prized bow.

"Does that belong to you?" The prince asked. He did not look up, more interested in polishing his weapon.

Estel shivered at the thought that Legolas had come so close to reading it. "Yea." Changing the subject he grinned, "Come. You promised you would assist me in archery." He raced off, in the direction of the targets, trying ineffectively to hide his bashful face that was quickly becoming a cherry-red.

Legolas raised an eyebrow in suspicion at the secretive human and then smiled brightly as he grabbed his bow, padding silently after raggedy Estel.

Shaking his head, he felt his heart warm slightly, as he stole a glance at the beaming child that looked up to him.

**oOo**

The hours flew by like minutes as they stood side by side, expertly shooting, the moon their guide and the misty night their audience. Every so often, Legolas would look up and elegantly whisper encouraging remarks to the focused boy. With every arrow they shot, their friendship grew tremendously, until both their faces glowed white with starlight as the moon reflected their freedom.

As Legolas bent down to adjust the boys' stance, Estel dropped his bow to the ground and suddenly embraced the golden-haired elf in a warm gratified hug.

He felt the icy-eyed elf stiffen beneath him, but Estel did not care in the slightest. This was absolutely the best feeling in all of Middle-Earth. His rough small hands entwined themselves in loose golden hair, willing the larger elf to hug him back. "I give you my thanks. _Le melin_."

The simple words sent Legolas's mind into a fit of shudders, his body tense. Legolas's speech failed, leaving him in stunned silence.

His brain immediately erupted into a hysteria of emotion, driving his mind into a craze of unknown feelings. For once in his ageless life, he knew not what to do or moreover how to react. It was as if someone had kindled a spark of light inside, then doused it, then rekindled it again.

A light blush unwillingly flowered onto his smooth face, radiating a rosy heat of embarrassment. He took the younger wild-haired boy into his awkward slender arms, gently patting his back in respect.

And he pulled away.

Surely this was not reality? Perhaps a mirage of the mind.

Legolas stood up quickly, and staggered backwards, still dazed with astonishment. How could anyone learn to like him? He was a prince; withdrawn, relentless, adamant, and single-minded. Did he leave out headstrong?... Also headstrong.

"Lego—las?" Estel waved a tender hand in front of the distant eyes that were focused on something far off. He giggled at the elf's absurd expression.

Legolas was indeed in some other distant land. He was lost within a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Sighing, he tried once more.

_"Agorel vae."_

Th recovering elf motioned to all the perfect arrows Estel had pierced throughout the hearts of the targets. _And mine as well_, he thought. Although attempting to remain cool and collect, the warmth from the embrace lingered, and he felt his breath hasten. The new feeling seemed to melt his chest into water. Yet it slightly warmed him as well, thawing at his unyielding heart that wandered aimlessly after Tauriel and the pride of his father.

He could only stare into the small twinkling auburn eyes that had given him a reason for his existence. And Estel's into his...

**oOo**

Mind distracted, his ears failed to pick up the rumbling of crushing hooves approaching Rivendell's gate. Legolas, head in the clouds, failed to hear his imperious father arriving. And lastly, he failed to notice the elf king, earnestly scanning Rivendell for his son.

* * *

Lle merna salk - Do you want to dance?

Prestad - Is there trouble?

Le melin - I love you

Agorel vae - You did well


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Frozen In Memory**

The rapid beatings of hoof meeting solid ice shattered the peaceful silence that wavered over Rivendell, and sent creatures scattered in every direction; for the presence of the Elvenking brought resignation. The frost-bitten trees grew solemn, the moon masked behind bleary vapor, and the birds ceased their tune.

Thranduil's eyes cut the briskness like a knife through air. He sought only one being, the only one that _mattered_. His darkened eyebrows and eyelashes glittered as tiny snowflakes fell delicately upon them.

The elves of Rivendell stood perplexed as their words became naught, eyes only fixed on the sole being of Sindarin race. The ruler they knew too well – _King Thranduil._

Lord Elrond, feeling a bit envious of all the attention diverted to the other, coughed dryly. "Ahem. It seems that King Thranduil is here to escort his son back to Mirkwood—nothing more." He shot a nervous glance at one elf, Lindir, giving him a 'you know what to do' look.

**oOo**

Thranduil's eyes scanned the crowd, searching, but the face he sought was nowhere to be found. Impatient as ever, he guided his beast near Rivendell's courtyard away from the chattering crowd, doing his best to slip unnoticed.

"King Thranduil? Departing so soon?" Lord Elrond stated. He raised an eyebrow in accusation. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" He jerked his head towards the healing room. "My guards say that Legolas has recovered; the spider's poison has been bayed by—"

Thranduil spun around in a mixture of shock and anger, an emotion that lacked attractiveness.

"What is this wound you speak of?" He growled dangerously, dropping his intense glare lower than low. His face contorted into a forbidding one. "My son is by far the finest warrior in all of Mirkwood next to me. If you dare to challenge _his_ skill, you challenge _mine_," Thranduil said in a tone like ice.

Lord Elrond grimaced, his plan compromised. "This is not about you," he muttered bitterly under his breath. "Why, I thought you to be informed. Legolas arrived not too many eves ago, severely wounded with a vicious poison lodged in his back, no doubt from a _Mirkwood_ spider," Lord Elrond said. He glanced at the king warily.

Thranduil felt himself slip into oblivion. Half of his face twitched into a frown of desperate worry at the significantly ill news. Only three words echoed throughout his mind: Legolas. Wounded. Mirkwood.

"And how did it come to be that this event occurred?" He seethed through clenched teeth. It would be unwise to let off unnecessary steam unto one who was being so... _informative_.

Lord Elrond observed the other elf with caution. He knew exactly what direction this was heading, and decided to switch the conversation. He quickly slid off his horse with a light _thump_, and shot daggers at Thranduil (much to the Elvenking's disgust), that said to do the same.

"You need not worry for him. Come. You are in Rivendell old friend, and I would greatly enjoy your company."

"I come, for my _son_."

"But surely you wish to indulge in my hospitality—"

"Nothing more," Thranduil hissed. He could not be swayed from his task. He would not say, but he was worried... beyond incredible measure. But how to slip away?

Thranduil elegantly dismounted, robe grazing wintry layers. A barely audible, "I accept your offer," was heard. He hoisted his reins and Lord Elrond took it.

Lord Elrond turned his back. He was glad he could finally be in control of the situation. "I bid you welcome, although you always seem to show uninvited." He chuckled, and paused to pat the back of Thranduil's steed. "As I have said earlier, _na saian __luume'. _The same goes for your last one predicament—"

Suspicion overtook him upon realizing no responses came. Pivoting, his eyes met an empty courtyard; he found himself alone in the bitter wind.

"Aye Valor, that elf drives me mad!" He bellowed into the frosty air.

Thranduil's horse, taking advantage of the distracted lord, hastily chomped down onto the elf's hair. Among the silent atmosphere echoed an indignant shout of shock.

**oOo**

Thranduil knew it was disrespectful to leave Elrond in empty suspense, but he had better things to do than waste time in such meager matters. He needed to see for himself that his son was safe. Now. As for last years' annual wine-tasting festival – that was another story. One that he was not proud of. He felt his cheeks playfully flush, but he brushed away his innermost memory.

Through vast hallways of rare stone he searched. Under roof, above ground, and through many gardens and courtyards he treaded. Hours dragged on like days. The borders of the forest under the shadow of the Misty Mountains was large and the day was cold; still he trekked onward. He aimlessly walked over blankets of snowy earth, and scoured the trees.

Was his presence the reason Legolas had been injured?

Regret. It teared his gut to shreds.

Tauriel's image unwillingly entered his mind, her maroon hair taunting him with fires of ire. Her stinging words had left deep scars embedded in his head, forever etched until death.

_You think your life is worth more than theirs? There is no love in it..._

Her words mercilessly teased him like a hunter with prey before consumption. The Elvenking stopped midway through his pacing. Half embedded in light snow lay a beautiful radiant rose.

_– There is no love in you_

Tauriel's sickening phrase echoed eternally in his mind, twisting and boring into his skull like a serpent thrashing wildly for it's life. He despised admitting it, but truth lay behind her words. _Was he always this cold-hearted?_

He knew the answer and it brought back haunting melodies, causing him to stagger like a wounded animal, for in a way he was wounded as well.

Concluding the battle at Erebor, Tauriel had asked for the one thing that sent the king into remorse, glancing fearfully at his trembling hands. He had been pressured into granting her that deadly act, for all the torment she had caused himself and his son was unbearable. He had come too close to carrying out her last wish. But enough blood had been spilt that awful night. So, he pardoned her, just this once.

Shaking immensely, his remote gaze suddenly grew chilling and with a cry of incredulity, he swept over the earth. The snow underneath left a misshapen imprint and scattered red debris. The fragmented petals eerily spilt over the new blanket of white snow, dotting it crimson.

Love would forever mean the end of life. _Aye Valor what am I doing? I know not what to do with or without my son_.

He knew now for certain that Legolas had been in some sort of trouble, but failed to see it. He had seen the confused blue eyes that had desperately begged his father for approval. To get to know him better. And what had he done? He had turned his back, like the many others he had done so in the past.

Running a hand down the left side of his face, he shivered at the coldness of his hands. "You need me Legolas, and though I dare not speak it – I need you as well." Absentmindedly, he stroked his cheek. The unblemished smoothness was false, a lie.

The scarred burns of war snapped him from his dreamy faze. _Back to reality._

**oOo**

Legolas gasped in surprise, and his bow fell to the snow with a soft _thud_.

A curious Estel took in the peculiar expression of the elf. Legolas was trying desperately to shroud his emotions.

"Is something the matter?" He asked. "_Lle tyava quel?_"

Legolas gave the small boy an apologetic look. "It seems we must return. Your Ada awaits your arrival."

Estel grinned in delight at this, jumping merrily into the brisk air; his face seemed to brighten Legolas's crestfallen mood. Estel laughed cheerfully, and pulled the confused elf by his tunic in Rivendell's direction. His home flickered brightly in the dusk.

"Wait 'till Ada lays his eyes on you! You've gotten so much better, and the last time he saw you was when you had fallen ill!"

He stopped dragging the elf, and ran a little ways off, marveling at the wintry wood that lay in their path.

**oOo**

Legolas's features softened at the boy's growing enthusiasm, yet... everything bothered him. He wondered just _what_ would come next. Would he have to depart soon? How would Estel react once he told him he was to search for someone he hardly knew? Would Estel react at all?

No.

He would stay.

This... Strider or whoever was not as important to him as—

He was brought from his thoughts as a flaky substance splattered all over his hair. It dappled his hair white, causing the elf prince to reluctantly shake the flaky contents off.

Smiling blithely, the elf cast his dignified appearance aside to tenderly scoop up a handful of flawless snow, and he carefully molding it into the perfect sphere.

_Fun and games... So, this was what he, Legolas, had been reduced to. _

Estel giggled and hid behind one tree, pride alit in his face. No doubt the... child was excited about another game. And yes, Legolas could agree that they were much too near the border of Rivendell.

Suddenly, his pointed ears perked; he caught the sound of crisp leaves.

Silvery strands of hair fell delicately upon his eyes, concealing the dangerous glint. Among the whistling wind, he heard a small clamor to his right. _Ah, there then_.

He smirked, and diverted his focus unto that direction.

"How foolish to make noise, my lad!" He commented. And with as much swiftness as lightning, he had pitched three outstanding snowballs in the direction of crackling leaves.

As soon as he let go however, a thin sheet of sweat instantly covered his brow. His arms slowly lowered to his side, glimpsing Estel's brown tunic visibly sticking out from another tree to his far left.

What mistake had he made this time? If Estel was on the far side of him, then what in all of Arda had he thrown at?

His eyes widened in surprise and slow terror crawled in the pit of his stomach, devouring him from the inside, as he realized too late the figure that met his gaze. His chapped lips parted in warning but no words arose before the emotionless elf about to be blasted by snow of his own doing. It was as if he, an elf, had forgotten the very language his kin had inherited.

Instead, it was the cold figure that had spoken a soft "Legolas" upon eye contact.

**oOo**

Thranduil's peculiar gaze and intense features turned to relief at the sight of his son but it lasted little. No more than half a second later did a rushing array of icy snow come at him.

Swiftly drawing his twin swords from beneath his garb, he elegantly wielded them around his refined physique, sighing as he did whilst lunging forward. He effortlessly sliced through the first snowball, cleanly in half, spilling its flaky contents over the ground like flower petals. The same event went for another as the shot was disintegrated into powdery snow, halfway through its journey with a simple whiz through the air.

As he glimpsed his son's shock, the king disregarded the final one, a flaw in the elf's reflex. Alarm had streaked across Legolas's face, and the absence of endearment brought him sadness.

_Oh Legolas, I would be frightened of me too_.

Snow fluttered everywhere as it met it's mark: his crown of sterling. It caught a thorny angle, and sent the headpiece tumbling to the ground.

* * *

Lle tyava quel? - Do you feel well?

Na saian luume - It has been too long


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER 11: NO ORDINARY LOVE**

_Acknowledge both the heat_

_And the cold of your heart_

_For this is no ordinary love_

The snowstorm picked up and howled like a feral animal. It violently swept the wood into its enchanting dance, sending frost everywhere. Prince and boy stood apart from the other, more entranced in the arrival of the new figure than the wind cruelly encircling them.

Estel was fixed, mesmerized. He could not pry his eyes away and he feared that nothing, nothing could. Not now.

Time was lost between the two elves. Their eyes were locked as if searching, hopeful for understanding. Their flaxen hair swayed in unison, and the snow seemed to float and swirl around their perfect physique as if by magic. Watching the crown fall to the ground gave Estel the confirmation that the stranger was a king of some sort.

What kept Estel rooted to his hiding spot, however, was Legolas's expression of disturbance.

Who was this noble peculiar elf to send Legolas into a state of fretfulness? Surely if Legolas was his servant the king would command him to do... something?

**oOo**

Legolas was in shock, and anger had turned his porcelain face bleak. Even though, the prince couldn't help the tiny smirk that escaped his lips as he watched his father's crown tumbel to the snowy earth.

Opening his mouth partway to unleash a bitter remark, Legolas found he could not. All that came was a huff of chilly air.

Thranduil scowled, but it twisted into a smug smile as if he were hiding some dark thought. He then elegantly reached down, clasping snow. He released it agilely.

The prince had absolutely no time to react, still stymied, and before he knew it, a clump of snow had slammed into him. It splattered in all directions. In an instant, Legolas's shocked gaped mouth was covered with powdery content, and he coughed bitterly, the freezing substance tickling his nose and threatening to cause him a sneeze.

Estel, behind his tree, was unsure whether to laugh or be frightened. The cold glint in the taller elf's eyes did not go unnoticed. A shiver ran along the base of his spine.

A voice like steel broke the tension.

"_Na vedui_. You have evaded my eyesight for quite some time." The Woodland King strode, silent as the falling snow as he crossed the blanket of snow that overspread the earth.

Legolas was stunned, wishing to move, but by some unseen force, found he could not. His father entrapped him with that gaze, that powerful look.

Thranduil noticed his son's discomfort. In an attempt to fix this, he flashed a crooked smile. He passed the exposed crown without even a glance. His hands were properly behind his back and his silver tresses spread superbly behind.

He opened his mouth once again to speak with his son.

Estel watched the forbodding figure draw closer to his friend. Nearer. Trying to suppress overwhelming panic that Legolas refused move, he immediately believed the stranger had issued a freezing spell of some sort. Was the king's intent to kill?

Gulping down his apprehension, he took a deep breath and made up his mind that he would protect his companion.

Doing so, by charging directly into the King.

"Lego—ugh!" Thranduil released an undignified choke, words twisting like a strangled animal in his throat. A small object had collided with his side, causing him to momentarily lose his breath.

He spun, unsheathing one of his silver blades. Raising the blade in a defensive stance, he readied to frighten whatever had crashed into him. Instead of meeting empty air however, he felt his weapon rebound, a sharp _clang_ echoing upon impact.

"Please lay your weapons down Adar." Legolas pleaded, eyes glistening with concern. Both his well-built arms were fastened in a tight position, twin daggers locked with the king's longer sword.

Estel opened his eyes and quickly lowered his protective arms. To his sweet relief, he wasn't cut in half due to the fact Legolas had countered. However, one word did not escape his ranger hearing. _Adar?_

"And who might this be?" Thranduil turned his interested gaze onto the boy that had assaulted him. He cocked his head as if observing the human's choppy movements.

Estel nervously wriggled from his frightened position behind Legolas.

The prince gently patted Estel's dirty muddled hair and gave Thranduil a warning flash that said that they were acquainted.

"—What is going on?" Estel chattered timdly. He felt slightly brave now that Legolas here but confusion dimmed his thoughts of reasoning. The wintry weather battered his body as waves do upon sand, and he clung to Legolas's side. The prince noticed Estel's discomfort and gave Thranduil a long blank stare as if awaiting orders.

"Adar we should proceed inside," he simply said. He motioned to the shivering human who was struggling to get both of his boots unstuck from a coat of deep snow.

Thranduil sighed deeply, his chances of apologizing obviously ruined by this insolent boy. "Aye, I agree." He gave Estel a glance of annoyance and said no more. He nodded to his son, permitting him to help the child.

Legolas pranced over to Estel and with one swift easy motion, he yanked the child out from the snow with a loud "pop." He smiled at the confused face Estel gave him. No doubt what was running through that small curious head of his. If Thranduil was a king and his father, what did that make Legolas?

Estel nearly tripped over his own two feet, his head spinning with so many questions that he felt on the brink of exploding. Barely noticing a smooth hand grasp his own raw fingers, he felt himself being gently dragged toward Rivendell.

The king swooped down like an eagle upon prey, grasping his headpiece and pulling up with such grace.

Legolas brought the boy closer to himself, hoping to keep him warm, but without much success. Legolas's optimistic face from before had disappeared. It was now an emotionless expression that suggested he was tense with anxiety but masking it behind a face of marble. And he hid it well.

**oOo**

Upon reaching Rivendell's marvelous archway entrance, Estel was half frozen, and his teeth chattered steadily.

Lord Elrond greeted them, his restless appearance calming once he saw Estel. "Ion-nin, where have you been? You know you cannot withstand the cold like elves do." Elrond rapidly threw a satin robe around the frozen boy, and embraced him, only withdrawing once the boy had halted his shivering.

Estel blushed a light pink, but discarded the shame by wrapping the garb around him one too many times.

Only until satisfied his son was unharmed, did Lord Elrond turn to face the two Sindarin elves _very_ much apart. "_'Quel undome_. You are our guests for tonight, come and rest."

Raggedy-haired Estel grinned gaily at Legolas before pulling on his tunic. "You must be eager to eat. I'm sure Silvan elves feast and drink too!" Legolas was about to correct that he was not Silvan, when laughing enthusiastically, Estel stole Legolas's longbow. The boy stumbled down to the dining hall, robe billowing behind. He continued shouting to no one in particular that he was starving.

This left Legolas, Elrond, and Thranduil alone in awkward silence. They all anxiously fidgeted; Legolas nervously studying a rather intriguing painting of Rivendell, Elrond nodding as elves carrying silver platters full of food waited for his approval, and Thranduil gazing intently at his son, relieved he had come across him intact.

Letting loose an audible sigh, Thranduil ponderened whether to approach his son now or later. He made up his mind that he would address the prince much later. Alone.

As Estel rushed towards them to show them to Rivendell's embellished dining room, Lord Elrond stopped him in his tracks, handing him silken garnished napkins. "Set these so Legolas will be seated next to you and Thranduil next to me near the head of the table."

Estel tilted his head. "Thranduil?"

Legolas laid a hand on Estel's shoulder to gain the boy's attention and then bowed, tunic brushing Estel's breeches softly. "If I remember correctly, I have failed to mention who I am _mellon-nin_."

He made a grand gesture to his cross-armed father. "Meet _King_ Thranduil, Ruler of the Woodland Realm..." Without breaking his gaze, he bowed himself. "And alas, he is also my _Adar_."

Estel timidly looked up at the towering elf clearly. He was clad in a silver-knit robe embroidered and hemmed with glittering stones like the stars. It was only then did he realize how ancient the older elf was - the lining of the elf's jaw clenched in a fierce determination, an expression that defined the cold chrisma of seeing too many wars. Legolas displayed no emotion, face like pure marble. As if in distraction, the elf nudged Aragorn forward so that he could stand directly in front of the Woodland King.

"And this, _Adar_, is Estel. He was raised by Lord Elrond."

Thranduil lazily acknowledged the boy with an annoyed tilt of his head. Through narrowed eyes at the mention of Elrond, he gave the Rivendell lord a grimmmm smirk. Finger tapping his chin, he bowed his head slightly and then made to walk away. Without much interest, he headed for the dining hall, hands claped behind his back. Still, his frown lingered on his face.

Legolas payed no heed to his father. He kneeled courteously in front of the human, and their eyes were level.

"And I, _mellon-nin_, am the Prince of Mirkwood." He added rather quickly and embarrassingly, "Not Thranduil's servant."

Estel eyes widened at once, his pupils seeming like they would pop out of his skull. blinked once, not sure if he had heard correctly. He grinned, believing Legolasmm to jest. One glance at the elf's serious expression, however, caused him to jump.

_"Aiya!"_

Instantly, his face turned a dark shade of purple and then an enormous flush of ruby. He ducked his head behind Lord Elrond's long teal robe, screening his flustered face. He had befriended an elf prince? This new tall elf was Legolas's father? What in all of Arda was happening?

A huge smile had lit up across Elrond's face, and he couldn't help a chuckle, glancing warily at the Elvenking. He seriously hoped he wasn't upset.

Thranduil scoffed at Legolas's last words in disbelief, and turned away. All the unnecessary talk was wasting his precious time with his son.

**oOo**

At the table, conversation was limited. No one spoke, with the exception of Lord Elrond and Lindir, who were nervously arguing whether it was a good idea to bring a leather bottle of wine out with Thranduil present.

Legolas had no appetite, for his back was still sore and sharp convulsions resurfaced every now and then. He would twitch restlessly, cautiously checking the others, praying to the Valar that they wouldn't notice.

Estel, on the opposite side of the table (he chose to sit there rather than beside Legolas) couldn't bear to make eye contact with the dignified Prince. If anything, he was rather upset, and it affected his star of eating; he tossed his greens sloppily around his plate.

Legolas noticed and tried to amuse the boy. He expertly threw a knife at a piece of pie one of the elves was carrying to his father. As the blade found its mark with a low _flit_, his eyes twinkled with mirth. Thranduil hated pies.

Estel ignored the action, feeling slightly deceived that he was not told earlier that he was a prince. Instead, he rolled his eyes to the elaborate paintings on ceiling, feigning to study every detail. Legolas ignored him. After having enough, he pushed his sterling plate away and his seat back. He bowed, his scraggly hair falling beside his shoulders.

"It was nice to meet you my lords. _Tenna' tul're_." Looking directly and only at his Ada, he asked to be excused. "_Amin autien rath_."

Lord Elrond nodded, seeing the heavy tension between Legolas and Estel, and got up to squeeze his son. Estel clasped Elrond back half-heartedly, guilt festering in his gut as he glimpsed Legolas's grim expression out of the corner of his eye.

Thranduil had gotten up, his resplendent garment glistening under the lighting. He laid a hand upon his son's shoulder. Estel's keen eyes did not miss the ripple of alarm that passed through the prince's body as Thranduil whispered something inaudible into his ear.

What he did hear however was a quiet: "If you wish."

King and Prince made their way out of the heavily kindled halls into nighttide.

**oOo**

The two royals glided through the air like preternal phantoms, skin like porcelain in the moonlight. Their silent footsteps led them away to Rivendell's most secluded spot, below the roaring waterfall. It reflected the full moon, icy water glistening with pure starlight. The droplets playfully sprayed the two elves beneath.

Legolas sighed and closed his eyes, his unblemished face catching nippy frost. He took a few rapid steps toward the fast flowing water, then came back. "It is most beauteous," he stated in awe. "Imladris, nearly as impressive as the Woodland Realm."

Not giving a chance to reply, he turned to face his scornful father. His face darkened; and he slipped into their melodic Sindarin lisp. "You wished to speak to me about departing with you come 'morrow?"

"Aye," Thranduil said simply in common tongue. The king closed his eyes, crown of thorns glinting as if reminding Legolas of his legitimate power. "As ruler – he avoided eye contact – and father, you must respect my decision to detain you. Put off this absurd quest for the time being. I had sent you to search for a Ranger, not some obnoxious boy.

"I—"

"And I will not have you fleeing from me again." It was neither an offer not statement, it was an order, one that meant to be followed without question.

"You believe that by forcing me to stay, I will obey?" Legolas retorted, voice rising with every word. "In all due respect, that _obnoxious_ human, Estel, has shown me many things that I have never experienced before."

He paused giving Thranduil a forbidding frown. "If I may, I fail to recall ever having a fathe—"

Legolas stopped mid-sentence, withholding his breath of astonishment as THranduil, the Woidland king, took him into his delicate arms. Took him in his arms? Pardon?

"_A-Adar_? I am no elfling!"

"My little Greenleaf, ever is thy sight a joy." Thranduil's flushed lips softly whispered Legolas's last name sympathetically, burying his face into citron hair. "I may have learnt something yet during this chaotic hunt for you," The king uttered.

Thranduil could no longer keep up the cold act he had begun. An overwhelming guilt gnawed at his insides. "I must have distracted you in Mirkwood. You are a mighty warrior and a skillful bowman. _Goheno-nin_. That is the only reason for you to have faltered."

Legolas was in a fit of internal war, in awe of his father, the king. Such an act was below him, unfit for someone of royalty.

Thranduil quickly grazed his fingertips lightly over the princes' old gash, stroking the ivory skin as though it were velvet, gaining a weak grunt of pain.

Legolas turned away. He felt slightly ashamed but grateful for the apology, and warmly clutched Thranduil's silvery garment. "You are correct. I apologize as well for fleeing."

Thranduil held his son closer to his own lithe body. Leaning in closer, Legolas could smell their unique, alluring scents intertwined – the scent of the forest, combined with the fresh incest of moss after rain.

"Will you accompany me? I will answer any questions that you have for me come 'morrow." Thranduil lifted a finger to stroke the face that looked so much like his deceased wife. The rings he wore were cold to the touch. Legolas's eyes widened - physical contact between elves was few and never since his youth had he been embraced as a son.

"You must obey my decision for you."

The phrase made him soften into the embrace, and Legolas supressed his distress.

"I want very much to protect you."

Legolas considered this, and then was shaken, as if by flow of the wind. Thranduil saw the effect of his words and raised his chin abrupty.

"Estel," Legolas whispered through half-lidded eyes. It was the one word that completed him, gave him a reason to look for better things to come, the name of his only friend.

Glancing at the powerful look that his father was giving him however, he assured himself he was making the right decision. His father needed him as much as he, Legolas, wanted a father.

Content, the Legolas nodded, slender hands gripping Thranduil's robe tightly as if he too wanted nothing more than to start a new relationship. Thranduil withdrew, and he extended a hand, in which Legolas took it without hesitation.

"Aye, _Adar_, I will accompany you to the household of the Sylvan elves we once knew: Greenwood."

The waterfall crashing behind drowned out their voices; their twinkling sapphire eyes gazed at it's starlight reflection. No more talk came. Their silhouettes melted into the landscape behind, and those who roamed below mistook them for the stars.

**oOo**

Estel painted the two ethereal beings with his gaze, but they became blurred with tears. He had heard every syllable that left the elves' lips - he was more than familiar with elvish - but with every lisp brought grief. He had snuck out of bed under Lord Elrond's nose to apologize for neglecting Legolas during the evening meal, but instead found himself here. And what now?

He hadn't predicted the event that followed. This coversation, their embrace; it meant the end of their stay.

Toppling insensibly down to solid stone, he ran hard, boots echoing with loud echoes, loose tears spilling and leaving a fresh trail behind. Why hadn't he spoken to Legolas before? Now that time had passed, replaced by one he had wished never to happen.

Upon reaching his room, Estel threw himself onto his disheveled bed, and curled into a fetal position. He wept, shoulders racking with sobs.

Until he could cry no more, he rummaged through his pockets and eventually drew his parcel. He had one chance, one more time to prove his desire for Legolas to remain in Rivendell. He would take it.

Although he knew this chance was little, giving up was not in his nature.

* * *

Ne vedui - At last

Aiya! - Oh!

Tenna' tul're - Until tommorow

Amin autien rath - I wish to go to bed


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12: MAY YOUR PATH BE GOLDEN **

A sudden knock on his door jolted the Prince of Mirkwood wide awake. He lazily stretched his slender arms, pushing himself off the bed where he lay. _Morning had_ _arrived much too quickly._

Striding across the room Lord Elrond had lent him, he tidied himself up to the best of his ability. Polishing his hair with a coral comb, he noticed that its' usual glimmer had dimmed, bleaching a dull silvery-grey in the ill light, the lack of bathing the cause. Legolas covered a yawn with one hand.

A constant _swish_, _swish_ emanated outside, followed by the light padding of heels against stone. Legolas did not need to put his ear against the door to tell that Thranduil was anxiously pacing about, his garnished robe dusting the floors clean.

"Adar, I _can_ hear you," he said quietly. "Your endless pacing is bothersome—please enter."

Outside, the King of Mirkwood cocked his head to one side. At last. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally had an opportune moment to carry out his plan. As Thranduil stalked inside, Legolas noticed that the king had replaced his red berried crown for his sleek silver one. Noticing Legolas's eyes glance at his headpiece, Thranduil spoke: "Of course, today is fairly a special occasion."

He did not have the heart to tell Legolas that he was much too lazy to put his other crown above his head.

"Yes my lord, I agree. 14 days is enough time to reduce to madness, scolding, and injury. So yea, 'tis a most wonderful eve, for I have endured all. Is a party in order?"

"Parties—they have a reason behind them and you know it," Thranduil said sternly. He looked outside; the fresh dewdrops on leaves glistened like fresh tears on dry faces. "And why mention scolding? I have not scolded you... yet. I merely spoke my mind."

A smile spread across his son's lips.

To distract Legolas further, he quickly swept all of his flaxen hair in one swift motion, nimble fingers finishing the usual plait. "Your horse awaits you. We must leave at once if we are to reach Mirkwood by mid-nigh'."

Legolas nodded in defeat. What more could he do than obey? With Estel, he was able to block the agonizing heartaches, but how would he bay the darkness now? Heavy hearted, he made to head for the door. However, his father's stern voice stopped him gelid.

"Legolas, halt." Thranduil held out his palm and something shimmered under the light. "Your mother loved you very much," he repeated as if nothing else should be said. Although his mouth was a serious line, his eyes told of satisfaction and merriment.

Inwardly holding a breath, Legolas was mesmerized at what lay gently cupped. THe stones in Thranduil's smooth hand was the starlight gem necklace the king had risked his immortality for. The rare diamonds reflected a pure light, gleaming and rivaling the day with its own vivid luminosity.

"I-I know not what you wish for me to do with this," Legolas stuttered, speech irrelevant at the moment.

"It is a gift... and a promise."

Thranduil softly placed the necklace in his fingers and turned on his heels. "Give it to the elleth you wish to wed, or keep it, for it matters little to me now. Without your mother, I have no use for it except memory." Thranduil paused and gave the shocked Prince a genuine smile, full of longing and want, as though Legolas was some star that he cherished above all else. And Legolas felt it, saw it, savored it.

"It is a symbol of _love_ Legolas Greenleaf, and I hope you will accept it from me." His father stylishly raised a hand to his heart, and their emotions at Erebor seemed to repeat.

_"__Amin harmuva onalle e' cormamin," _Legolas answered in the melodic Sindarin they shared.

Was his father going mad? Thranduil never displayed acclamation to anyone, other than receiving it. He trusted his heart, not his mind. Therefore, this was a dream, and a beautiful one at that.

"Let us depart, home awaits," Thranduil said sternly.

Legolas quietly tailed Thranduil throughout the corridors, and into the fresh scent of the outdoors. The royal family gained several eyes as elf lords and maidens strained to witness the glorious passing. Rays of Anor blessed the nobles and their glorious riches; jade rings, porcelain skin, and silver-blonde hair flowing in unison.

All attention went unnoticed by the young prince. He was content, yet mainly confused. He was searching for something far richer than what royalty had bestowed upon him. He had eyes for one, the one he hadn't bid farewell to yet.

Picking up no trace of Estel's whereabouts, he sighed, dropping his sullen gaze to the ground. He mustn't retreat just yet... Where was that stubborn child?

As Thranduil gave his son a 'we must depart' glance, Legolas mounted, but still kept a weather eye on his surroundings, searching.

**oOo**

Estel snored loudly. He tossed and tumbled restlessly. Staying up to eavesdrop the previous night had taken a mighty toll on his deprived body.

If it wasn't for him to accidentally roll and hit his head unto the palace floor with a low thump, he might not have waken at all. Rubbing his eyes open with his palms, he jerked upright with remembrance.

"Why didn't Ada wake me?" he groaned. "Aye me! Have I missed their leave?" Hurriedly jumping out of his night tunic, he pounced into his regular shabby garment, and dashed out the door.

He rushed back in a second later, grabbing his parchment before racing out again.

Dashing through the deserted halls, the soon-to-be King of Gondor scampered towards Rivendell's gate, his wavy hair tangling from his uneven movements. Please Valar, let it not be too late! Turning a tight corner, he skidded over a newly polished floor and flew ourdoors.

Shielding his eyes from reflection, he turned his head anxiously, searching for the one being he wished to spend eternity with.

And there he was! The shining Prince of Mirkwood, his friend.

**oOo**

Legolas had turned his back on Rivendell, still upon his royal horse. His eyes were blank in deep thought. His elven ears twitched slightly however as he heard the faintest scurrying. He whipped around, hair whirling behind, seeking the wild-haired boy. His gaze brightened as he found him. The effect was immediate; he found himself smiling, and clutching his reins much too tight.

"Legolas!" Estel called.

His small hands cupped around his rough face, making eye contact. The boy tore his gaze away for a second as he darted forward like a rabbit.

_"Daro!"_ He did not bother to apologize as he caused other elves to rush out of his way. Legolas slid of his horse and cordially kneeled. A panting Estel teetered in front of him. The boy met him with a swift embrace.

"I am returning to my home, Mirkwood, dear Estel," Legolas said carefully. "Forgive me mellon-nin for not informing you of this sooner," he said, tone unyielding like stone. "I am not proud of my actions, but know this; I had traveled to find the sun, but at the end of the day I found something more."

Estel's eyes widened and his face narrowed in comprehension. "Me?"

"Your accuracy amazes me," Legolas said. He smiled with difficulty. The beaming child was like a ray of sun himself, and it bothered him. _He had to leave – no, stay with him – but his father... _Legolas took a step back. He felt robbed of breath, so he clung to his horse's reins.

"Legolas? Is something the matter?" Thranduil (he had been observing the entire thing) pressed. He held out a hand hesitantly, wondering if his son required aid.

"I'm fine."

Estel, more concerned on their parting, tugged on the elf's tunic. "I apologize for avoiding you yesterday, " he started sheepishly. Suddenly, as if a galleon had flipped, Estel's voice rose into a whine. "—You mustn't leave me here alone! I – I'll miss you, but you did swear to protect me."

Legolas blinked emotionlessly, turning away, not wanting the child to see the agonizing pain reflected in his own clear blue ones. Every word caused a dagger to pierce his heart. "Don't be selfish _mellonamin_, I must obey the King of Mirkwood." He stole a glance at Thranduil. "I am happy you have come to wish me well however. You mean as much to me as the river flowing sweet and the trees swaying freely."

Words could not fill the dreary silence that followed. Instead, Legolas placed one arm around the boy at an attempted embrace. The boy sniffed quietly, and clung to Legolas's arm, wondering if he would ever see him again.

As Legolas gently pulled away, Estel remembered his task and pulled out a piece of ripped crumpled paper, waving it around wildly as if Legolas was about to vanish into a cloud of dust. "A gift. It seems I will not sway your mind but perhaps this will do?"

Legolas swiped the letter he had pierced earlier and sighed with grief as he did so. "I will read it once I arrive in Mirkwood. _Tenna' ento lye omenta_." Not wanting to see the raggedy-haired child's obvious expression of dispiritedness, he turned swiftly, feeling sick of heart and downright regretful of his sudden leaving.

Mounting Silevon, he forced his beast into a slow trot, following his father and several other Mirkwood guards, his face expertly masking a downhearted appearance.

He quickly blinked away his emotions and returned to the cold prince he once was. _I have duties to perform and although this one friendship was nice, I knew it would not_ _last_, he thought to himself darkly.

_Son__ of the great Elvenking, where dost thou journey lie? Under tree or over sky?_

Legolas shook his head, theading a hand through his hair in distraction_. Where? _

**oOo**

Estel stood in shock, his mind clouded with rejection. This wasn't suppose to happen! Legolas was supposed to read it now! No! This wasn't right! He thought of sprinting after them but instead, he dropped to his knees in defeat, Lord Elrond placing a comforting hand on his back.

"I am sorry_ ion-nin_ for not permitting you to accompany them, but Mirkwood is full of foul creatures of all—"

"Legolas and the Wood-elves are not foul Ada." Estel brushed the smooth hand away and stood up, walking heavy heartedly toward Rivendell's courtyard where he had first glanced Legolas -or rather some of him. Nimbly scaling the wall separating Rivendell from vast Middle-Earth, he balanced himself like a cat. Estel weeped cheerlessly as he watched the elves grow ever fainter and fainter. "May thy path be golden and green. _Tenna' san'_..." he sniveled, dampening his sleeve.

**oOo**

When the day came to, the mood of the world about them had become soft and sad. Slowly the dawn grew to a pale light, diffused and shadowless. Legolas and his father rode effortlessly onward. Estel could not leave the prince's mind alone, whereas Legolas could not leave the king's thoughts.

As the elves internally rejoiced at the familiar tree tops of Mirkwood, they were stopped.

The forest was a sickening sight, which was saying plenty for it looked more appalling and haunting than ever. The deviating branches loomed above their heads as if luring the elves ever closer into deeper bowels.

What caused Legolas to shiver internally with horror however was the abhorrent fresh crimson that stained the forest floor, varnishing the murky cobwebs a red tone. He looked away as confusion dawned as realization, and breathed heavily, silently praying to Valar through half-lidded eyes. What in all of Arda happened here? Instinctively, he drew his narrow bow, arms latching an arrow. The wood reeked of death.

Thranduil attempted to remain calm, hushed the disbelieving elves with a whispered "_Khila amin_." Although he summoned calm, thoughts swirled around in confusion and dread. Immediately, he clasped the hilts of his blades, finding their situation worth paying heed to. "We can asses the situation above the leafy canopy," Thranduil ordered.

The elves stealthily flew through the foliage like birds, but they halted at the King's pause.

"Either Orc, Men, or Goblin," Thranduil seethed. His ears twitched with apprehension, alerting his son to be on his guard, and his eyebrows furrowed with a temperament of loathing. "_Tira ten' rashwe_."

Smirking, the noble troupe nimbly jumped down, keen elven eyes flashing over the wicked forest shapes. As a crackling sound from their right emanated, the noble company turned swiftly, weapons skillfully brandished at once.

When doing so however, a snarl echoed, and a figure burst from behind the brambled thicket. The thick overcast made the intruder unknown and all the more ominous.

The enemy was veiled, hidden, as though the shadows had encouraged this creature to lumber. Legolas unveiled his deadly twin knives, easily locking with a blood-soaked blade above his head. The scarlet substance trickled down and stained the laces of his hair.

* * *

Amin harmuva onalle e' cormamin - I shall cherish this gift with my heart

Daro! - Stop!

Tenna' ento lye omenta - Until next we meet

Tenna' san' - Until then

Khila amin - Follow me

Tira ten' rashwe - Be careful


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER 13: HUNTERS BELOW THE THICKET**

O'er our woods we must defend

For this may be the bitter end

In silence ever shall I lie

Farewell, farewell, all vanity

The forest was silent, other than the mere growl that emanated from the dark, the kind of silence that did naught to ease the Elves. They looked upon their king for instruction, and we're not disappointed. Basking in the sickly grey light from the foliage, Thranduil had an unbreakable stance and an expression as unwavering as stone.

"_Ndengina ta_," he commanded, looking to his son_, _"now."

Legolas nodded, responding to the order. Leaning his weight unot his arms, he lurched his blade forward (and with such cleanliness!) that it felled the creature from vile head to stomach, bathing the floor scarlet. And it was when Leglolas, whom narrowly escaped the beast's counter, saw the clear, marred flesh and grotesque features that alerted him as to the identity of the intruder: An Orc.

"Orc filth!" he spat in contempt.

Then, beheading the disgusting thing, he turned on his heel and headed back to the awaiting elves. Upon his face was a glower directed toward solely one being—his king.

"_Ta naa neuma!_ This was merely a scout," he said, "Let us warn Mirkwood!"

"Legolas," admonished Thranduil, "they may have already realized this. I fail to know for sure however, and I, though I am concerned of what has befallen them, must take care of things here and now." Although no fear was visible, Thranduil did not dare take his eyes off the woods whilst speaking.

"We will travel through the trees then," said Legolas, more of an order than a suggestion, "and shall fight for our homeland to the death if we must."

Thranduil looked at him, scorn written across his features. Though Legolas had forgotten his place, yet again, there was no time argument. He could only agree with a curt nod.

Legolas and the two elven guards raised their bows over their hearts. "Our bows shall sing with your sword, my lord."

At this, Thranduil beckoned them forward. Like the swift prance of a hart, they leapt stealthily into the foliage.

**oOo**

"How long more must we wait?" A vicious Orc of considerable measure frothed. "My knife longs for the red of those fair creatures; let's see if their blood is as fair as them. Merely three cannot quench my thirst." He impatiently sharpened his sword with another pair of weaponry. Yet, the horrible, rustic screeching sent dozens of Orcs cursing his existence, and they threateningly raised their own weapons.

One of the most intimidating of the group snarled. "You insolent fool!" said he, "Rhogdul has left precise orders to wait here. You would do best obey them, or I might dispose of you myself before you kill us all!—The Orc cowered at these words, dropping his weapons to the ground in submission—His wrath is not one I am willing to face."

Then, leaving the Orc to his own, the speaker stomped along, eyes gleaming with satisfaction at his power to threat another.

**oOo**

The Elves stirred amongst the foliage. Legolas sat above the rest, hair grazing the leaves; they watched the wretched Orcs roam upon their land through narrowed eyes. "They're worse than Spiders, spreading poison further and further inward," said Legolas. His muttering was true, for the Orcs presence tainted the forest blacker (what once had been murky had become a darker shade of grey). "No more. These repugnant beasts will pay in death; their miserable lives the cost."

Legolas looked to Thranduil. The Elvenking's jaw was clenched, eyebrows furrowed in distaste; he looked as if he'd swallowed something horrid. "Death to the foes of the Elves," growled Thranduil after a moment, "May light flare and may darkness flee."

Legolas and the Elves nodded in understanding. Though they may not survive the day, they moved of their hearts' own accord—to protect the forest, though a corrupted one, their home nonetheless. And with heavy swimming-like movements, they took a deep breath; the breath before the plunge. Then they landed upon earth.

"_A lelyalme_. Wield your swords." Swords rang as they were drawn.

The Orcs drew near (although startled, they were quick to react). There came a horrible noise upon the air, a spitting, growling noise that the Elves thought they would never hear uttered in their home—Dark Speech, curses, growls.

The elven company sprung effortlessly forward, fluently brandishing their delicate weapons, preparing to slaughter the whole group with ease.

Sprinting father ahead, Legolas drew his bowstring, letting a thin arrow sing melodically, boring into the vile head of the first orc that neared. The dark servant of Sauron bared it's yellowed teeth and gave one last defining roar before crumpling lifelessly to the forest floor.

One fallen, several more to be slayed.

A dangerous glint appeared upon the prince's face and a delicious thrilling sensation crept upwards along his spine. This was like a game, he played a perilous game; but the stakes were high, and he fancied himself strong enough to guide the tempest he evoked. Adrenaline coursed through him as three more Orcs attempted to besiege him. How foolish to think their skill could surpass his.

As they dared to near, he spun, agilely slashing and sparring with the three weapons. Evade, leap, slice, repeat.

The orcs snarled decisively with animosity, but staggered backward as each of their weapons rebounded with a sharp _clang_. Their throated gnarls were cut off instantly as the elf shot them a triumphant leer and a second later Legolas gyrated easily on his heels. He switched fluently to his elven daggers and sliced all three of the orcs' horrid heads in one motion. Tilting his head with certainty, he turned to see how his father was faring.

Thranduil was absolutely mesmerizing in battle. His skill was indeed mare more fair than Legolas' and he was more experienced with age. If the Orcs gained too much ground, Thranduil was three steps ahead, fencing his sword with grace, warding them back. Legolas loozed upon his king with awe; he watched the beasts demolished by his father's hand.

"Legolas. I know how fond you are of watching me fight, but I believe I commanded you to attack as well," Thranduil panted between parries, twisting his body to the left and right. "Don't be lazy," he added, a smirk marking his smooth face.

"Do you have the need of saving, my lord?" Legolas replied sarcastically, impaling an Orc that had managed to sneak behind the king's back with an arrow from his quiver.

"Never fear, _ionneg_, you are by my side. I am aware of how much safer you feel alongside me," Thranduil retorted, eyebrows raised in mirth. Legolas would have scoffed, but he was occupied with another tenacious beast.

Back to back, the King and Prince of Mirkwood fought valiantly, never missing a beat, their synchronized blazing dance annihilating all who dared to oppose them. Stretching his arms, Legolas fired arrow after arrow, the repeating pattern targeting with such precise, whilst Thranduil flaunted his steel blades with the same deadly accuracy.

The orcs bared their teeth in defiance, but the elves did not miss the flash of uncertainty that appeared on their terrible faces. The fair group never once yielded. The trilling sound of metal against metal. The consistent thunder of their hearts as adrenaline pushed them further. Further, further, they were almost rid of them.

"My Lord—" The two guards by Thranduil's side began.

Suddenly their breath hitched and a loud thump was heard.

Turning swiftly, Thranduil and Legolas directed their weapons where the sound emanated, but they were much too late. The guards had fallen, lethal Orc arrows protruding from their chests. Blood watered the ground.

Legolas, rooted to the ground, scoured the forest uneasily. Where had that arrow appeared from? The orcs they were currently fighting did not fire. So who did?

Turning to scour the forest, realization dawned as he glimpsed the scarred face of the Orc leader. The creature was a little far off but still making his way to where the royal family stood bewildered.

"Alas! There are more beasts approaching!" said Legolas.

Thranduil clenched the hilts of his weapons and his eyes widened in fear. He could barely contain a silent yell as a distracted Legolas missed the incoming arrow from the current orc he was sparring with. His blood instantly ran cold.

The crossbow was aimed directly at his son's exposed back.

Out of time. Legolas could not evade the shot. Without a second thought, Thranduil indignantly thrust Legolas out of harm's way, expertly wielded his twin swords and brought them harshly down, splinting the incoming arrow in half. "Orc filth," he said confidently, head held high. His darkened eyebrows suddenly raised as a low cackle erupted from the orc archer.

"Have you forgotten something? I am not the only archer here... Not anymore, in the least," The vile creature spat, sly sneer plastered on his ugly face.

Legolas, momentarily winded from his father's act, raised his bow lightning quick. As he focused on the one who had aimed to kill him, he suddenly realized he had forgotten something. The new orc group neared. Sneering wickedly, another barbaric crossbow raised strongly.

"Ai!" Legolas, distraction proving to be his fate, calmly accepted his fate. But his father; he had a better chance. "Adar! Flee at once!"

Thranduil, head cocked in confusion, reeled around in understanding. _Legolas_! He heard the soft warning from his son's lips and instinctively met his son's cerulean eyes, exchanging a loving glance.

Thranduil then unexpectantly lunged swiftly in front of his son a second time, weapons half-raised, attempting to shield him from the deadly act that threatened to follow.

Legolas stood, shocked at his father's action. Twice his father would do such a thing? No, no, no, no, no...

He watched it absolute horror as the arrow savagely buried itself into Thranduil's left shoulder. Red, (O how he despised that wretched color), blossomed like a budding flower over his father's porcelain skin.

_This was a lie, false, a trick_.

Gasping for breath, he stepped backward. Through his haziness came a twinge of pain from his ankle.

_Truth_.

Eyes widening in instant pain, Thranduil's cool face gave no weakened sign of his predicament as he shakily tried to staunch his blossoming wound.

Relief flooded his features as he realized that he had been penetrated and not his son. And Legolas; was he safe? As his hands progressively soaked with blood; he soundlessly collapsed to his knees, head bowed in repugnance, his crimson-splashed robe splayed around. How did this come to be? He blankly stared down at the embedded arrow closely above his heart, mouth halfway parted in shock. His sterling crown fell mutely off his head, hair fluidly covering his disoriented eyes.

Legolas cursed silently at his father who had taken the shot that was meant for him. His words turned to nothing. This time, he furiously took up his stance in front of his downed father, ready should more arrows follow.

Glancing quickly behind, he pordered as to how serious his father's wound could be.

"I-I cannot g-go further," Thranduil seethed, gritting his teeth, his eyes growing hazy due to the continuous amount of blood loss. "_Av-'osto_. It is an order to extinguish them all; leave me and dimpose of them," he panted heavily, his too pale face losing more colour, turning as white as frozen winter.

"Nay. I would never think to abandon you," Legolas choked out, voice rising. "These foul monsters dare not move closer for fear I might kill them all."

The foul Orcs could not take the mocking insult and roared ear-splittingly as dozens charged at the remaining noble elves.

Rhogdul snorted as his troupe rushed forward with such hatred. In his black native speech, the orc leader bared his decayed teeth into a wicked grin and growled at his followers. "Kill them both. They will die for our loss at Erebor; our ill-news mean death. The dark lord would no doubt destroy us." He licked his blood-painted sword, bloodlust driving him beyond mad, hunger.

He sneered at the stricken Woodland King who now lay gasping for breath, hands grasping naugt but the earth. The Elvenking held himself steady, for fear of collapsing further.

Rhogdul's enthusiasm was cut off however as one fair-skinned warrior blocked his view. The elf''s face was pure loathing with revenge, startling the Orc somewhat as a stunning glare shot through his black twisted heart. The elf stood, incensed at his enemies, blades gleaming dangerously in the fading light.

The Prince of Mirkwood.

And upon his face, wrath burned like fire.

Legolas wielded his swords right—left, countering every strike, whilst shielding his injured king. His efforts prove futile, however, and the Orcs outnumbered his lone self; they surrounded thim, their battle cries echoing clearly through the dark forest.

**oOo**

Lord Elrond came awake with a jerk, the aftermath of his foresight receding within his quivering body. His covers lay in mush condusion upon his bed. Trembling with cold sweat, he blinked—once, twice, to rid the last of the effects away.

Aye Valar, why must things never go as expected in Arda? he thought.

Shaking away the effects of his foresight, he trembled with anxiety. He threw his usual teal robe over his grey night tunic and sprinted down Rivendell's halls, shouting aloud as he did so.

"The Lords of Mirkwood are troubled! Gather the usual patrols to assist me in my journey to the Woodland Realm at once!" He tackled his golden gleaming armour outfit, slipping it over himself whilst heading towards Rivendell's stables.

"Ada? I don't understand, what is going on?" A childish voice rang in worry.

Estel suddenly appeared out of nowhere, making Elrond jump in instant surprise.

"Legolas and Thranduil are in need of aid ion-nin. If we don't find them before evening nightfall they are dead." He sighed. "I can send you off to bed still, but sadly I know you will not obey. Am I correct?"

Estel's flabbergasted face as he had mentioned Legolas, confirmed the Lord of Rivendell that indeed, Estel would not.

"Ada! I have a strong desire to go! You will not forbid me this time!"

"Annon I *dhawen angin," Lord Elrond whispered. Arguing only took away time.

"Really?" Estel stiffened, not believing the words that had come from his Adar's mouth.

Lord Elrond rolled his eyes to the nighttime sky, sighing at the delay. "You heard me correctly. I give you permission to come Aragorn, but make haste! We have little time!"

Mounting his usual steed, he brought up Estel in front of him. "You must promise me you will not do anything rash."

"I won't Ada!" said Estel replied, and the horse moved into a canter at Elrond's hand. He was overjoyed with the thought that he could see his friend again and he purposely ignored the grave fact that Legolas was injured, or far worse... Dead. The vast plain that separated them, a barrier, could mean the difference between life and death.

* * *

Ndengina ta - Kill it

Alelyame - Let's go

Av'osto - Do not be afraid

Annon I *dhawen angin - I give you permission

**Note: This is by far my favorite of all I've written. Thanks to those who left comments. *****Cackles evilly. What have I done to them?! Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it as much as I enjoyed making this chapter!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Note: Slightly shorter but still important! I have been busy with school, but here you are.**** For the next chapter I am introducing a character I have mentioned before. Thanks for sticking with me!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 14: SHATTERED**

The birds fled. The sun fled. And the Prince of the Woodland stood dauntlessly, soul ablaze with the desire of vengeance.

His vision had clouded with anger. Orc warriors raced towards him, and he changed his stance into a more defensive one - his left foot back, bow readied, and sure. Shock had withered away, for time was working against them, and the Orc's game was just beginning. It started with that sudden advance, the vile choas erupting by his watchful eye. And it would end... eventually.

But in both regards, escaping unscathed was folly.

**oOo**

The King of Mirkwood was in distraught, more concerned for his son than the arrow fixed into his shoulder. He could feel blood tricklling faster and faster down his arm, and his other supporting arm trembled occasionally under his weight.

He barely had enough strength to glance up at his unyielding son. But he did so anyways, out of slight fear than acknowledgement. As raised his head, he could not restrain a miserable moan.

_By the sea and stars, it was as if his shoulder was burning from the inside out; it was as though flames were spreading throughout the rest of his body, licking his blood_. _Poison no doubt was at work, sapping his vitality away_.

At this, he tasted metal from within his throat. He licked his lips in effort to supress a gag.

"Legolas. Look at me, _ionneg_," Thranduil ordered. He needed to confirm that his wounds were worse than his son's—that was the way he wanted it to be, the way it _should_ be.

Astonishment written across his face, Legolas locked eye contact immediately, and a silent message of understanding was exchanged between the two elves.

"Nay, I forbid you to speak," Legolas commanded sternly. "Whatever you do, do not remove the arrow yourself."

A sullen smile spread across the king's face, and his eyes moved downcast. The coarse earth left thin scratches along his fair hands. "You forget who you are speaking with," he said softly.

Legolas merely nodded. His disquieted face had turned decisive with sweet revenge to kill he who had shot his father: the leader of the Orc pack.

Attaching his bow deftly to his back, he fell to his knees and tucked his arms in, spiraling to evade an attack. No more than a second later did an Orc ruthlessly bring his sword down onto the spot Legolas had been earlier.

**oOo**

As Rhogdul quietly observed the elf dancing with unimaginable fury, he could not help the snarl that breeched his mouth. His Orcs were much too slow in the midst of the elf, his tactics perfectly in sync and lightning quick. He observed his fair enemy whirling his blades in front of his father, cleanly slicing all who approached. He snorted. They need not kill them... _Yet_. Patience was a rare gift bestowed upon him, a curse in his creation.

Prowling along the outskirts of the skirmish, the Orc leader crept._ This is the final time I fail on Sauron's behalf, _he promised_. _He growled then decided to bring them to the end of the battle, for his dead Orcs were too many to count. In twisted fury he roared to the darkened sky, the direct order emanating like thunder.

The outcome was made clear.

**oOo**

Stunned, Legolas lowered his bow a fraction. What to do now? Glancing at his downed father, he knew things would not turn out a right no matter the situation. What of Mirkwood's stronghold? What of Rivendell? Was there no one to come to their aid?

His thoughts were instantly vanquished as a horrid wolf-like creature made its appearance with a sinister growl – this was no mere wolf. The scarred snout and immense body covered in bristly hair gave this servant of Sauron a frightening appearance. Yet it was the fangs that completed it – they were hideously splintered, and a complete row of severely sharp canines grinned madly at him.

_Valar, do you wish for me to be killed? _

Legolas slackened as several more beasts padded forward. Amongst the snarls and footfalls, he heard Thranduil grunt in surprise as well, and he gripped his bow tighter.

"We must fight together. We have no choice," Thranduil declared. He wiped his bloodstained mouth, and rose to his feet. Then he shot Legolas a fierce commanding glare that said if he didn't comply, he would kill the prince himself.

Legolas's lips quirked to laugh at the king's strange expression, but at the sound of a soft, "Legolas, don't laugh. Not now," he smiled worriedly instead.

"Do not push yourself," he said.

When the king nodded, Legolas spun and glowered at the mass of enemies, building rage increasing his agility and power immensely. This was no ordinary battle. He was fighting for his Adar's life. And perhaps though he did not want to think about it... _his_ as well.

As one Warg leapt forward, his arrow sung. With a roar of defiance, the furred creature used the last of its strength to hurl it's rider forward. The Orc flew, weapon raised above it's head. Legolas raised his blades to finish what he had begun, but the Orc was cut cleanly in half by a slender sword. _Thranduil_.

The king stood strong as the wave crashed aginst him.

Legolas retreated and let his father command the battle-field, but nevertheless kept striking out wherever he found them.

Unanticipatedly, he heard a low grunt of disbelief from behind. Twisting his head, the prince was glad he did. The king was fighting mercilessly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his blade matched a much larger and better-built Orc - their leader.

**oOo**

"You will yearn for the shadows, my dear king," Rhogdul taunted. "Your son, he already halfway there; have you not noticed?"

Thranduil gritted his teeth. Lower and lower his stance wavered.

Sensing victory, the Orc leader snarled triumphantly, and leaned face-to-face with the cavalier elf. "My orders never specified to kill you _now_ my lord."

And with a savage growl, his balled fist found Thranduil's wounded shoulder with a sickening _"thwack."_

Thranduil gave a low gasp of surprise, eyes blank with bewilderment, and he faltered. The shaft embedded in himself snapped cruelly; the action sent his lithe body into a quick jerk and his head spinned as though Arda had been turned upside down. Through watercoloured blurs, his hands shakily pried the rest of the splintered pieces from his shoulder.

"You will suffer my King, in every way we know how," Rhogdul sneered viciously, roughly twisting the king's head in Legolas's direction.

Thranduil closed his eyes, understanding exactly what the Orc meant. He did not want to see the one thing he held so dear to suffer for his own actions.

**oOo**

Legolas's eyes widened with shock as he silently witnessed his father beaten ruthlessly. Ignoring all else, he rushed to the aid of his King. "Adar! Make no move!" His eyes flooded with tears as he watched his father gracefully plunge to the earth, his magnificent silver robe now dyed ruby.

The King lay still, his ragged breathing faint and his splashed decorated sword sprawled beside him. The green brush beneath gave way to the new pool of scarlet that flowed increasingly, like a rushing river.

However, Thranduil still had the strength to weakly warn: "Come no closer! Rima ten'ta!"

Legolas payed no heed to his king. A blinding rage consumed him as he thrust himself recklessly at the Orc leader. He leapt through the air, waving his swords circular as he propelled himself forward.

Rhogdul sneered, baring his decayed teeth into a triumphant grin. "The Prince of Mirkwood," he scowled. "Bind them both." He nodded to three of his toughest orcs, their beastly faces leering at the prince that hovered protectively over his fallen father. They would serve as payment to Sauron for their mistake, dying in their place. But that didn't mean they wouldn't serve as enjoyment. The orcs' bloodlust was growing steadily as their hatred grew for the perfect elves with unblemished features.

"You shall touch him no longer," Legolas seethed. His once cool face was presently lit ablaze with anger. He raised his bow, he was outnumbered. Legolas could do nothing as he silently watched his beloved bow snap sharply in half by an arrow, the wooden remnants tumbling gracelessly to the ground.

The Prince stood. He watched the precious gift from his father splinter against the ground, the pieces lost to the earth within seconds.

Snapping out of it, he glared furiously. How dare they?! If he was going to be bound, he would not go without a lasting fight.

However, he had not time to mount a defense before a crushing force crashed into his chest, and he tumbled into the dirt, mounds of dust swirling like bees around his form.

"You are weak," the Orc jeered gleefully.

_Defeat_. There was no word in the prince's elvish tongue. Neither was weakness. He had never before felt the need for the insult. Now however, he could not take his eyes off his father's helpless expression looking back at him with such deep concern. No doubt the king was dissapointed in his skill. Legolas feebly reached out to him, the same gesture he had done upon departing Erebor. Light tears built in the prince's cerulean orbs.

Suddenly, his entire nervous system erupted into a fit of agonizing shock as his arm exploded in pain. _What now?! _His mind could not register where the attack was originating until the culprit growled feral in his face. A Warg clutched his arm mercilessly, its razor-sharp teeth brutally digging into the arm part of his warrior tunic.

Legolas's determined face fell; he was being dragged. His body went still, his arm hanging limply in the jaws of the foul beast that was dragging him indignantly away from his father. Deeper into the cruel woods he had come to know as home.

Legolas, hope dwindling, knew the future events that would occur, long before it would happen. Still, the thought of what they might do to him brought a chilling panic and curdled his blood.

Rhogdul smirked at the noble elf as his troupe bound the prince's arms above his head around the trunk of a wicked tree, crushing his porcelain face against it. The orcs roared smugly, ripping both of the elf's heavy garments off of his body like shredding paper, exposing the flawless fair skin beneath. Oh how that smooth skin longed to be torn, etched with beautiful designs of his animosity and rage. Thorny whip glinting horrendously in the fading light, Rhogdul smiled wickedly and raised it above his head, waiting for the elf to realize the state he was in, that all hope was futile. He would break him.

"The King of the Woodland Realm shall pay for our loss!" Rhogdul roared, grinning sickly at his work.

And with that, the whip cracked like thunder, echoing ruthlessly through Mirkwood as it made direct contact with bare flesh. Legolas grunted at the bite, and to his disbelief, his lithe body jerking against his restraints, instantly clenching his fair hands.

_Death, please, why do you torture me so?! _he pleaded between the exploding pain_._

It tore his soft skin apart; the thorned tip wrenched free from his back, taking a part of his soul him with it.

_Damn myself and my weakness! _

It stung like fire. The swiftest lashes made of the tightest, most violent of rage. Pain had become so common, that his body had all but sentisized to it, and had grown numb.

Oh, how he was done with it all!

It consumed him, corrupted him, twisted and ripped his heart into a timeless path of lacerations. Legolas had to bite harshly down on his lip to prevent a shameful scream of blinding agony, but could not withhold the light grunts as each blow rained down from above. Tasting blood, he cringed yet again.

All he saw was the flickering of darkness, luring him into unconsciousness. Back mutilated to pieces, Legolas's body reacted without his mentality, collapsing slowly into submission. He no longer felt the pain. He only welcomed the dark like an old friend, the only thing that comforted him. As his eyesight grew hazy and threatened to close, he remembered the only thing that mattered now: _he__ had failed his father_...

_"Adar!"_

**oOo**

Thranduil, eyes shut, could not help the incoming blush of shame that flooded his face as the orcs bound his hands roughly and indignantly behind his back. He tried to hold his head up properly but failed miserably as the slightest movement caused searing pain throughout his arm. He ground his teeth together in silent fury.

What was that noise? His elven ears twitched anxiously until the king heard a startling crack. A whip? The cracked voice that followed was filled with panic, terror and defeat? It was issued like a curse, a silent message playing that seemed to say, you failed father.

The sound infested his mind. "Legolas," he whispered. _Aye, I concede, I have failed, I have let you down._

No more than a second later did the sad sound echo again, the calling of his name throughout the dark bowels of the forest.

_Legolas!_ his mind screamed. His hands were white from clutching the ground, and with every slice from the enemy, his shoulders jerked as if each 'Adar' was a seperate stab between them. Where his son was he could not follow, and what they did to him he could not help._ Not this time._

A wave of cold terror washed over him, and he drowned in it. His hands, usually so steady to the point of arrogance, were now shaking with rage. _"Nadorhuan rim!"_ He exploded in a terrible wrath, for the feeling of being unable to do naught was torture, simply torture. His blood boiled in rage.

As he gained a blow to the head as response, he shot daggers everywhere that could pierce metal.

_Think! _The king immediately wished, but he could not, all reason extracted from him. _You_ _know_ _his_ _stealth_ _and_ _skill; he's a capable warrior_...

The lies swallowed his pitiful state, crushing him mercilessly. As tears tears threatened to swell at his own ignorance, he stopped himself. His heart shattered to shards, but it comforted him slightly not to release his anguish, for his enemies enjoyed pain and sick games of weakness. Like a bird to prey, they would surround him, drawn to the grief of his broken state.

But against his will, one tear snaked down the side of his left cheek.

Only one thought entered his mind: _he had failed his son_.

And the woods grew still again. Masked with false serenity, the atmosphere brought goosebumps to Thranduil's body, and fear to his heart.

* * *

Rima ten'ta - Run for it

Nadorhuan rim - Cowardly dogs


	15. Chapter 15

**Note: Haven't updated in quite a while so sorry if it's a little lengthy! Prepare yourselves and thanks for reading. Hope you like! :D**

* * *

**CHAPTER 15: HAUNTING EMBERS**

_**"Nothing ever has an end, not misery or pain, **_

_**Or even joy and gladness; they will always rise again."**_

_"Look," said Legolas, having been called to his father's chambers for something of great importance, "I painted something for you based on the tales Nana told me about Dwarves!" The nearly grown Elfling eagerly raised the portrait, eyes a bit fearful that his father might shake his head or tell him otherwise. Thranduil gazed unseeing at it, then returned to the scrolls upon his desk. _

_Legolas took a seat. _

_"Legacies are not meant to be shared in pictures nor Dwaves nor glad tidings," said Thranduil with a glance of disapproval. _

_"Why did you summon me?" asked Legolas. _

_"I brought you here to give you this – Thranduil revealed a bow of beauteous making from 'neath the folds of his mantle, "for it is time you learn to use it properly. As a prince you must value this weapon as your life." He pointed to a corner in his workspace that held a matching quiver and arrows. "Naught else will protect you."_

_Legolas grasped the bow in both hands, running them over the flawless engravings. "Elo!" he said, "I thank you for your gratitude." He bowed his head. Thranduil did not meet his gaze. _

_"You will stay in the palace with me and learn your place."_

_"But," said Legolas, "I do not wish to do that, Ada. I will not do that. Why give me this bow now if not to fell beasts and ill things out there?"_

_"There will come a time," Thranduil said. "But for now, why must you do this to me?"_

_Legolas looked almost broken at this, as if the threads of his dreams to follow the other Elves had been cut. Yet, this was all for good reason, Thranduil assured himself. _

_"The only reason this has wrought fear in you is because you think I am going to die. That, I have no intention of doing."_

_Thranduil looked up at this. _

_"You will do well to remember you are and will always be the only heir to my throne. Of course I do not wish you dead!" He had said it in such a relentless tone that it startled Thranduil even more than Legolas. Upon meeting Legolas' crushed state, he was incapacitated by guilt. "I-I am not wrong," he said, though this was torn from his mouth. _

_Legolas backed up. He nearly collided with the edge of Thranduil's desk._

_Thranduil watched his son take his leave. And leaning against his desk, hand threading his hair, he heard a cry, a sniffle from his beloved Greenleaf. Filled with ire at what he had caused, he fetched a wine bottle, unclasped it, and drowned himself within the drink. He threw the painting out the window._

_Indoors, King and Prince knew naught that it was fetched by a red-haired Elleth who had unknowingly come upon it. She looked at it once–twice. Then, tucking the nearly realistic drawing of the Dwarf away, it was treasured, not forgotten. _

**oOo**

Legolas unclosed his eyes. Tears rolled past his lips, painting a wicked trail upon his face. Still roughly tied to the tree, the bark scathed his mutilated back further. A small voice, his subconscious, repeated like a constant drum: don't give in, help will arrive, don't give in... no hope... no hope. The rope holding him bit cruelly into his chest and drew blood. Creaking solemnly, branches swayed as if beckoning the evil nearer.

How he adored the wood before now.

He shivered as a faint breeze stung his exposed skin. His tunics were taken, purpose extremely clear. Licking his lips to relieve himself of the rawness, chanced a scream; naught came and for an instant he thought he was dead. His head pounded, the repetitiveness as if hundreds of horses stomped upon cobblestone.

Viewing naught but the empty glade, Legolas assumed the worse: that his father had either been slayed or faced the Orc leader alone.

There were no Orcs. Legolas wondered if the Orcs had either fled or left him for dead, but this was dismissed as a smug snarl interrupted his musing. The foul beasts bathed in the shadows, and one retrieved a whip from its place against a tree. Mustering as much vitality to lift his head in defiance, Legolas thought, Ai Valar, do not claim me so soon. It is far too early to greet you in the Halls of Mandos. His hope was met with naught but thin air and empty shadows.

"The Elf is awake."

**oOo**

The Elvenking knew his reliance had abandoned him. He inhaled short breaths, trying to obtain air without rousing his injury. His back was uncomfortably propped against a stone, son nowhere to be found. The sun had abandoned all. Every sign of life diminished; a chill ran down the base of his spine.

"The Prince of the Woodland Realm is dead," Rhogdul sneered, enunciating heavily on the word that brought sheer terror to Thranduil's heart.

Thranduil immediately summoned his elvish instincts, grunting at the rushing dizziness. His head was spinning uncontrollably, vision blurring with a variety of mixed colours. Green, brown, black; the vivid colors of memories mixed with darkness. But death was not an option.

Rhogdul towered over him, snarling triumphantly and threw Legolas's bloodstained garments near Thranduil's feet.

The Woodland King's face hardened, his striking features growing darker with rage, and his mouth pursed into a scowl. "I do believe we can cease the sick games you are attempting. I trust my senses, so forgive me that I believe he is not," he answered.

But as he moved to evade, a sharp pain froze him gelid, hindering his act. "Be silent, witless Elf!" cried Rhogdul angrily, and he struck Thranduil across the face.

Gaining an advantage, Rhogdul yanked the tall king to his feet. He brought Thranduil nearer to him; and he saw the wrath burning like fire, how the king looked upon him as worthy of naught, but to be cast into the fire. At this, he savagely traced Thranduil's wound, eliciting a low groan of fear and agonizing pain. Rhogdul growled in response. He raised a clenched fist, readied to crush the Elf's skull.

A flash of green and red amongst the bracken.

"_Amin delotha lle_..." said Thranduil.

Rhogdul could not release a withheld gnarl of shock as two daggers smote him from behind. He glanced down at the blades protruding from his stomach. He snarled. "These woods will forever manifest with evil," said the Orc, "Do you, Elf, think Erebor was the final assault? There will be more, more, everywhere, not just your home. Everyone will burn..."

Suddenly, (and with such fluency!), the Orc was sliced cleanly in half and Rhoghdul was dead before he hit the ground.

"I am aware, thank you," finished Thranduil.

And when Thranduil blinked, he found not a damsel nor an ill creature, but an Elleth awaiting him, twin swords raised should more beasts near. Clad in her signature green garb, she bore a fierce appearance, though not entirely unfriendly.

"You are aware," she mocked.

Thranduil scowled and raised himself from his knees. Shamed, he hid his wound. He wondered whether to punish Tauriel or take her unexpected appearance for granted. He decided he would do both.

"Tauriel," he said, "I believe I had exiled you—"

"Aye, you did. But I refused to surrender to your relentless attitude," Tauriel finished. She walked toward him whilst sheathing her blades. "It would be wise to move little."

"You may have saved my skin, but it is still not your place to treat me thus."

Tauriel merely smiled. Thranduil blanched. In her hand was his silver crown, twirling round her fingers as though a meager toy.

"I found this!" she said, displaying it for he to see, "Or does it belong to Legolas? Is he king now?"

Thranduil growled. Apologizing with a low, "thank you," he snatched it from her, placing it where it belonged – atop his head.

Tauriel simply couldn't resist the urge to tease her former ruler. "Tis a most splendid meeting your majesty," she said, "And I believe my presence should be appreciated. I have contacted Mirkwood's finest gaurds and they shall arrive soon. Although you do not want to say it, you were indeed in need of saving, my lord." She offered a hand but was turned down as Thranduil shot daggers at her.

"Do not dare to lay a hand upon me, traitor," Thranduil spat. Yet as he moved, a wave of pain crashed against him and breath was stolen. "Y-You are lucky I chose to spare you. Legolas would—would not have reacted well," he said through clenched teeth.

Tauriel sighed. "I have certainly missed you too, my lord." At the mention of Legolas she stopped. "And Legolas? Where has he gone to? Has death befallen him?"

"I-I hope not," said Thranduil softly, "but it worries me gravely."

The Elvenking's manner shifted as did Tauriel's, but much more drastically – his severe mask slipped for a second, and in that brief time, Tauriel noticed the loss of sharpness 'neath his gaze, revealing dismal worry. So, it was truth.

A father's love is always silent, though Tauriel.

Helping to steady her king despite his reluctance, she brandished her weapons.

**oOo**

The woods were silent to Legolas' pleas. He tried to shut out the filth that poured from the Orcs' cruelty, but to no avail. He tried to remain impassive, yet this was prevented when the the beasts' eyes flashed with a menace – ire like lighting in a quiet sky before the storm.

"This is the valiant Prince of Mirkwood?" —a harsh jab from the hilt of a sword.

"All who oppose us will have their blood water the ground." —a yank of the Elf's head.

"Once Rhogdul tortures the ruler of the woodland, we will have no use for you," said an Orc, sick smile plastered upon his face. Legolas' stomach turned over multiple times in disgust.

Worse though, he knew of the terrible hatred the Orcs carried for his fair Elf cousins.

He, however, did naught to resist their taunts. He merely struggled within his broken state, slipping in and out of the void; he fought his lack of skill, with his arrogant behavior, and with the thought he had started this. There came no response from the his forest, and his heart descended into the depths of betrayal. Panic gnawed at his insides.

Legolas hissed and curled up protectively when the beatings came. A cold terror washed over him. They taunted him with words of, "No one shall ever find your body! Only your bones!" and "Curse you, Elf; do you see your flaws now?" The hits vigorously rained down. And he closed his eyes, willing the creatures to halt their brutality.

He could not count.

He could think of nothing except the tears, the agony, could not escape even within his mind. With each blow he dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands, until even they too bled.

Once they grew tired of their amusement, the foul things chuckled and stalked off.

Legolas lay upon his back, unbound. He waited for something, anything. At length, with a wild desperation at heart, he quickly unclosed his eyes. His worst thoughts, then, were confirmed. The blackness of eternal night encompassed him. Legolas struggled for breath. The intensity of the darkness seemed to oppress and stifle him. His heart ached for relief, for death.

Estel. Thranduil.

_Silent like the settled night_

_A lonely star in the dusk_

_A tattered soul disoriented_

_In deep darkness buried_

_Only the the place of empty echoes_

_For the forest birds no longer linger here_

_Alas! small hope remains_

_But above all shadows lies the sky_

_Where father mentioned once_

_That stars always dwell._

"Legolas."

A voice – harsh and echoing – rung throughout the glade.

Awakened form his reverie, Legolas weakly rose; and, as though attepting to regain some pride, he tried not to amble nor saunter under his father's eyes. Blank eyes met his own, and he accepted the ancient gloom that enveloped them; the usual fairness once been on his father's face had turned gaunt. Were there tears in Thranduil's eyes? Legolas could only guess how his own appearance seemed. He bowed his head and tried his best to cover up his back with his arms.

A gasp escaped him before he knew it. Under the ill casted shadows of the trees, he was taken into a light embrace. His eyes widened in astonishment, for this was no ordinary embrace. It was an act with pure desperation and full emotion; a huge display of affection. Legolas blinked – whether it was the uneasiness or the hiding of his tears the cause.

"Adar."

"_Lle anta Amin tu_?" Thranduil pressed. How could this Elf be his father?

"I-I am well enough to fight."

"Do not lie to me," Thranduil chastened. He entwined his Legolas' fingers into his own, burying his face into his hair. Legolas was at loss for words. Despite his agony, he allowed the King to draw him close, allowed him to graze the lacerations. He stood, tremulous.

"I believe this belongs to you." Thranduil handed both of Legolas' garments, easing them on with caution. He then presented him with the twin daggers Tauriel had retrieved amidst the forest floor. "Take better care of your weapons. Without them naught will save you – except, perhaps, myself." Thranduil gained a wince at this – a forced smile from Legolas.

That was when he remembered Thranduil's wounds.

"_Hîr vuin_, your shoulder!"

"It will be mended once this is ended," said Thranduil, "for now, remain silent so I can cherish this." These words brought fear to Legolas', for he wasn't sure if they were Thranduil's parting for Mandos or an explanation. Grasped ever tighter to his father's warmth, he decided he did not care; this memory would not slip away from him, not like the rest.

Legolas, upon realizing his eyes were closed, opened them abruptly. He could not have foretold what awaited his vision. An Orc that neared had been decapitated. Yet it had not been slayed by his father nor himself, but by someone he'd come to believe to be deceased.

He stared on, mutely.

An Elleth had done the deed; fighting in the clearing, a furnace of wrath shone through her blade wielding, mirroring her hair. Her poise was almost as frightening as it was fascinating to behold. She grinned at him, raising her swords in emphasis as if to say, 'I've felled many, how many have you?'

"T-Tauriel." He wished to ask her many things, but the words died on his lips.

Her green garb, her starlight-filled eyes, her flaming red hair. Memories of Erebor overrid his mind. And his body could only take so much at once; everything crumbled, and pain moved within his heart like an eddying river. Was he going mad?

He dropped to his knees, muffling his groans in his father's arms.

"Legolas, whatever is the matter?" Thranduil dismayed, obviously confused, "What is it!"

Legolas could not answer even if he wished to.

Tauriel was here; she was alive. And the feeling was as if a snake had coiled itself around his heart,

twisting,

squeezing all life from his chest.

**oOo**

Tauriel's worried expression changed dangerously as the Orc approached, red locks fiercely displaying her passion for battle. The Orcs cried all at once, "Slay her! Slay her!" and set upon her from every side. She fought bravely, striking more than one of them dead to the earth but two of them smote her at the same time and she would have been dead there and then.

But on a sudden, there came out of the forest a horse bearing the colors of Rivendell and upon it: Lord Elrond. Like a thunderbolt he came in his golden garb, and Orcs fell left and right 'neath his sword; before long, those who were left alive turned and fled away, and Elrond rode after them and into the distance.

Upon returning, he called to Thranduil: "_Hîr vuin, Odulen an edraith alen_!"

Relief swept through her. Tauriel gave her thanks with a smile and resumed striking the foul creatures, on and on. It seemed as though this horrible nightmare would never end.

**oOo**

At the Elves of Imladris' arrival, the heartiness over Mirkwood once again ignited.

Estel watched as Elves of the Wood rushed into battle, in defense of their land, King, and Prince. He jumped from his place beside Elrond. On the far side of the glade, he could make out Legolas' lithe form, slumped against an equally weak Thranduil as though unconsciousness.

He foolishly made his way toward them. Fear spurred his energy and he let his battered body rush forward.

Estel watched horrified as his friend sprinted toward himself; toward the midst of the fight. "_Daro_! No! Stay!"

But Legolas did not stay. A wave of movement caught Estel's attention and before he had the time to process that it was an Orc, within a second of lure impulse, Legolas had weaved and felled it with his knives.

"What are you doing!" cried Estel in anguish. "No!"

Legolas smiled at him, reassuringly. Then he faced the wave, knives outstretched as if to anger the enemy further. Estel only huddled behind in sheer terror, wishing it was he – a valiant warrior – to aid his friend through this. Now, he could only think about how he had failed Legolas, his father, himself.

He exchanged a glance with Legolas. Legolas moved to his level and whispered, "_Estel_. _Hope_, dear one."

* * *

Elo - Wow

Amin delotha lle - I hate you

Lle anta Amin tu - Do you need help

Hir Vuin - My lord

Odulen an edraith alen - I have come to save you

Daro - Stop


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16: Time Doesn't Heal**

The moon illuminated Mirkwood, engulfing the shadows into its wake, basking the night in a white light. The North wind, as fluid as water, gently blew the Prince's hair, the fine strands dancing around his face.

In his "sleep", Legolas's beauty was heartbreaking. For tranquility was definitely not what had befallen the elf's slumber. Elves were so hard and resistant to hurt, but this - this was different. Legolas's eyes were shut, fighting the evil behind his eyelids alone.

Thranduil's fingers undid his son's woven braid, delicately, the strands soft like feathers. The King of Mirkwood watched over his son all through the night, bedside, barely noticing his own health deteriorating. Thranduil's own hair acted like a veil, shielding his son's afflicted face from view.

"Hir Vuin, we must properly mend your shoulder," a healer broke the tension.

Complete and utter silence. No orders. No scolding. Only the sound of anguished heavy breathing that did not come from Legolas.

Throughout the hours, the prince turned his head every so often, in and out of consciousness, wiry arms twitching in response to dark dreams.

**oOo**

_"Why do you cry?" A charming voice sounded from behind._

_Legolas sniffed, rubbing his eyes with his small hands. His beloved bow and quiver were tossed carelessly aside. "Ever since I came, the elves tease me that I am and never will be one of them. I-I am different." He clenched a fistful of his golden hair._

_A ruby haired elleth clad in green smiled at him. She did not look like much but her smile was intoxicating, making the young prince instantly forget why he was upset. He buried his face in his hands, as if he had just revealed a very important secret._

_"You **are** different." A giggle. "They're just envious of the Prince of Mirkwood."_

_Legolas looked up in surprise. "Y-you think? They despise me ever since father and I took our place in Mirkwood, for i'm not like them."_

_"What's wrong with being Sindarin? You hold so much power mellon-nin. You are the only son of the King and you could punish every one of those bullies."_

_Legolas looked up as Tauriel extended a friendly hand. Did she just call him mellon? He blushed, embarrassed at his outburst._

_"Tauriel. I wish to be a captain of the guard," she introduced._

_"Legolas Greenleaf. I am an archer and your superior," Legolas said teasingly. "If you wish to become captain, your skill must surpass mine-"_

_Abruptly, a lightning quick strike caught him unaware and he landed indignantly on his back, legs knocked out from under him. With a surprised grunt, he sank into a pile of dry red and yellow leaves._

_"I am very capable of doing so, thank you." Tauriel laughed, in attack stance for emphasis, green eyes sparkling with mirth. The sunbeams breached the leaf canopy to the forest glade, bringing out the crimson shade of her hair. It gave her a fierce determined appearance._

_"Tanya awra!" Legolas grinned, golden hair spread around him. He was beginning to like this elleth. He squealed with joy as Tauriel stole his items, wanting the prince to give chase. And he did, grateful for every minute they spent._

_Though young elflings, they flew through the unblemished leaved trees, golden and red hair glistening behind them. _

_Their newly found friendship gave them the extra push to soar like birds, their wings free to carry them wherever they dared go..._

**oOo**

After an eternity or so-it felt to-Thranduil, the King finally received a response from his son. But it was not what he expected.

Legolas groaned in delirium as the beautiful memories tormented his body and soul. His son's trembling hands clutched at the sheets, twisting them violently in his fists as a spasm vibrated throughout him, pulsating from his chest. His skin was transparently white, the moonbeams making his ivory skin look deathly ominous. Light tears welled and escaped the sides of his eyes, rolling down his face, leaving a silver trail.

Thranduil was at his side in the blink of an eye. It was no strange sight for the healers as they witnessed their King's crestfallen face. It was the same expression of woe he let loose when his wife had passed.

Legolas's eyelids fluttered as he struggled bring his mind back into reality. Reality meant pain. The excruciating stings drove his body into a flaming sensation. Legolas's blurred half-lidded eyes looked right through Thranduil, instead of focusing on him. Unfamiliar hands seized his shoulders.

"Legolas you must awaken," the King ordered severely. Thranduil continued to stroke the prince's hair, barking words in Elven tongue to snap his son out of his mind prison. "*Echuio!"

The voice was foggy, strange and tugged at the princes' memory like a long-forgotten dream. Legolas muttered an Elvish curse through gritted teeth, struggling violently against the firm hold. "Leithio nin!"

"Calm yourself and _look_ at me!" The voice was firm, commanding. It seemed oddly familiar.

Legolas began to panic, the traumatizing memories flooding his mind, the remembrance of his painful journey and torture. Cautiously, he opened his eyes, the first rays of Anor greeting him-blinding him. He hissed as the dim light temporarily stung and caused tears, waves of pain rippled throughout his _everything_.

Rare had been the occasions on which he had been at lost for words, but now Thranduil certainly was. He wished to say so many things to his fading son but he found himself that he could not.

"My king." A pause for breath. "Did I mention that I was dying?" Legolas rasped sarcastically.

"Nay," Thranduil simply stated. The corner of his mouth quirked with slight amusement. The determination of Legolas's death could not be calculated but memories could limit his days.

The healers peeked in the room, wondering if they were needed. The two ethereal beings which were so alike in beauty, was simply breathtaking, maddening. There was a deep understanding in father and son. In their blue eyes, emotions mirrored, their mind and heart alike in so many ways they did not know.

"You are not attending the burial tonight," Thranduil growled. "You are not even leaving this bed. Do you understand?"

"Aye," Legolas said looking away.

The Elvenking sighed. That was too easy. A sudden jolt of pain flashed though his shoulder, and he realized he failed to properly mend it. The action did not go unnoticed by his son's excellent eyesight, dying and all.

"Leave. I will not die in your absence. I am sure of it," Legolas said.

"That's very reassuring," Thranduil scoffed, brushing a silken strand away from his son's face. Immediately, he coughed, switching his posture into a more formal one. "Sana sina. Drink, it shall decrease the pain," He said, tone filled with concern, gently handing the prince a cup full of medicinal liquid.

Legolas placed it to his parched lips, sniffing the herby essence suspiciously as the strong odor filled his nostrils like the wetness of morn. "Amin hiraetha," he said, hiding his smirk. He pretended to take a sip, raising it and sucking the edge of the brim, the bitter smell burning his eyes like fire, and then shakily handed the foul concoction back.

The prince knew his father meant to knock him out with a sleeping potion. Luckily, Thranduil was surrounded by concerned Elven healers that he missed the action.

Legolas's leaned his head back, closing his eyes, trying to convince his father that the potion was taking affect. It worked. Thranduil sighed sadly and closed the door behind him. He turned on his heels, making sure not to disturb the Prince as he departed.

As soon as the door closed, the Prince took out the necklace his father had given him. He stared at its breathtaking beauty, holding the shimmering stones in the palm of his hand.

_It is a symbol of love. I hope you will accept it from me._

_Although you do not mean your words with all your heart, I do. Always, my king_. _Amin mela lle..._

As he adjusted his position, something crinkled in his tunic pocket. _Estel's letter!_ He frantically scanned the bloodstained parchment, reading it once-twice-three times. "Aragorn," Legolas repeated. He never finished the task assigned to him, but instead made a friend. He smiled genuinely, ache lessening a little. The name sounded slightly familiar.

Nothing came to mind so he lay his head back to finally rest, content beyond measure...

**oOo**

Thranduil wandered through the dreary woods, head bent down in shame and despair, eyes averted to the ground. The trees of Mirkwood were entirely leafless and seemed so foul, rotten within them. He felt no comfort among the bare trees. They made him feel as if the forest had fallen into death, a dark slumber like his son.

Wherever he tread he could not escape his guilt. Everything led back to him. Twice he had pointed a sword at his most loyal warrior, his sword unwavering. But it was his sheer concious that prevented the final stroke. Now she was dead and because of this Legolas was fading from grief.

The wandering king was lost in a timeless void, lingering in a world long forgotten. Perhaps his destiny was to also fade, fade from sorrow like his son, to leave the shores never to return. It was certain. If Legolas died, there was nothing left for the King. He would gladly follow his Leaf past the grey curtains and beyond.

_If this is love, I don't want it. Take it away please! Why does it hurt so much!_

He shook his head as the phrase lingered...

As the day wore on, night grew closer. Thranduil had spent the last few hours withering away in the forest when he remembered the burial. Hands behind back, he watched the decorated lights flicker as they placed Tauriel and his other brave warriors' bodies into stone coffins behind locked chambers. They were decorated beautifully, patterned with vines and leaves. And Tauriel; she was so beautiful in death, her red hair woven and embroidered with flowers. Tauriel's spirit was finally able to reunite with Kili in the halls of Mandros.

Thranduil was glad the prince could not see her as the elves gently placed the cover over her, shielding her from sight for forever. Little did he know that Legolas at the exact same moment was watching as well.

Legolas oversaw the procession from above, cringing with pain but determined to see Tauriel, his childhood friend, for the last time. He memorized every detail, every feature, into his mind before they lasted her to rest. Ai Valar, she looked as if she could be asleep. He had shared with her everything; his mother, his feelings, their laughter. And now, she had left him, chose someone other than himself to love. Yet in the end she chose to die for him. His eyes, watery, closed as he bowed is head. In one hand, he clutched the glistening necklace and in the other, a crumpled letter for comfort.

Hearing light footsteps approaching, he fled to his room, flopping onto the bed with a low groan. The ceiling spun for a few seconds. He was just in time as Thranduil himself walked in.

"Ah. You are awake," The Kings eyes darted over the trembling prince.

"Aye, it seems I am."

Thranduil looked away nervously, feeling rather awkward. "Well, I was wondering if you join me hunting during the patrols morrow. It seems you have healed except for your heart. If I may, I wish to spend time with you to help."

Legolas sighed. When would his father learn. Thranduil only wished to spend time to keep him from fading, never before. Well, it was a start and it certainly was stating something. "I will accept your offer. I guess we could say that we are turning over a new leaf."

"Indeed." Thranduil smirked and bowed his head in recognition. Perhaps this could be the right amount of medicine his son needed. He leaned down low, silky hair entwining with his son's. He looked into those crystal clear eyes that reflected his own emotions.

"My lord?" Legolas's voice hitched, heart stopped. He watched, in awe as his arrogant father inched closer.

"To better days." Thranduil elegantly opened his arms wide.

Legolas nodded stiffly, taken aback by the act. He clung to his fathers arms for support. Sitting up, delicate fingers ran through his hair. He could not believe that his father was giving up his dignity and pride to display such affection. Surely he was mad. Where was the cold hearted Thranduil he had come to know as king?

"Your mother was not the only one who _loved_ you."

Legolas frowned, the word love used in past tense. His thoughts disappeared however as his fathers' icy mask fell, replaced by one of warmth and kindness?

Amin mella lle..." Thranduil calmly whispered into his ear. He brought his face lower to plant a kiss on his son's brow.

"My liege-" an unamiliar voice echoed.

Thranduil whipped around immediately, eyes ablaze with blue fire. His chance to redeem himself destroyed. "What could be so important as to disturb me right this second?"

"Ahem well, I brought the tea you ordered," an elf carrying a silver tray said. " I apologize if I have killed the moment."

Thranduil's mood drastically changed, heat of ire flushing his face red. "The moment is not the only thing going to be killed today." he muttered, glaring at the elf, clearly annoyed. "You could have mentioned it sooner." he said, resuming his usual presence.

"You only gave me the chance to utter one word." the elf muttered under his breath, handing the tea to the royals.

"Two words." Thranduil corrected lazily.

Legolas smirked; the atmosphere was disturbed. However, did truth lie in that simple phrase? Or was it just an illusion?

"Adar it's quite alright. I will join thee." he responded, tapping his chin, pretending to think hard.

The Elvenking nodded apologetically. Tea in hand, he strode out the door. Before closing it, he gave his son one last look of pure sorrow. Of love. His son would not fade on his behalf. He would make sure of it...

**oOo**

The leaves changed from brown to green and from orange to brown. And the Prince and King of Mirkwood spent their days together hunting, day and night, years passing in the blink of an eye. For they were elves. Immortal. Time mattered not.

Legolas's shattered heart patched bit by bit like puzzle pieces connecting with every hunt. The challenges of killing fell beasts, brought Legolas and Thranduil closer even though they rarely spoke to one another, preferring the silence.

The prince would rise with the sun, dress, and depart for the forest where his father and patrol would be waiting. And the same routine went on and on. But some days, he felt like a heavy burden to the King, as if he was begging for attention with jealousy.

On a new elk (a gift from Mithrindir), the Elvenking would rarely offer attention to Legolas as they rode, other than simple commands and strategies. Not since the day he had offered his final attempt of affection. Darkness stirred in the East and everyone could sense it. Because of this, Thranduil was always busy, responding to ill-news as times grew harsher. Some days he even failed to come. He would only send word that he regretted missing their time together but that his schedule was full with business to tend to.

Such was the life of a ruler.

Legolas knew it was childish and foolish to sulk, but he could not help the emotions bottled up within himself. And thus, he released them under dark, to the cold walls that enclosed him.

Deep down the elf prince knew that his broken heart could never be put together, the pieces disperesed throughout the lies and desolation that stole them.

But he told no one. The feelings of loneliness still lingered like an aftertaste. A nightmare unable to run from.

For days on end, he attempted himself to lose himself among the cedars, the void in him increasing.

Sometimes he would remain standing as ice, silent for hours at the edge of the border, wanting nothing more than to race across the vast sea of grass to the friend who had left him in suspense.

But his father had chained him well, caging his thoughts of fleeing with threats of all kinds imaginable, the dangers that lay beyond their fortress his reason.

The elf longed for his friend Estel, thinking of him every wakeful minute, and even in dreams, remembering their meaningful time spent. How was the human faring? Why had Estel left him? To cherish the time alone with his father?

Perhaps the boy had long forgotten him by now. His heart sank, a hundred times lower at the thought. Without him, he no longer enjoyed Arda and all that its lush forests had to offer.

An elf who felt naught for the trees of his home.

He scoffed. Thranduil would not hesitate to kill him on the spot if he ever heard Legolas say it from his own mouth.

**oOo**

Only when Thranduil sent couriers demanding his son's immediate return behind closed doors, did the king notice Legolas's light flicker on the brink of darkness. Thranduil would say nothing for several weeks, frightened in essance of the past repeating, only observing his son's hair bleach like snow, his skin far too pale to be healthy.

Over the ten year span, though his bond with Legolas grew with every hunt, it was obvious it failed to mend his son's heart effectively. Surely it was time to resort to desperate matters now and Thranduil would do just that.

So when the day came that the King revealed the news that Estel would be visiting, his own soul softened as his Legolas's spirits rose with delight. He saw his son spark once again with the fires of hope...

hir Vuin - My lord

Echuio - Wake up

Leithio nin - Release me

Tanya awra - That hurt

Sana sina - Take this

Amin hiraetha - Thank you

Amin mela lle - I love you

**What do you guys think? Thanks for reading. Phew. :) Estel will be older in the next one. Perhaps I am moving too fast?**


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER 17: CALM BEFORE THE STORM**

The Spring day was overcast. Water trickled downward, dampening the earth lightly. Inside the stronghold of the Woodland Realm, the atmosphere indoors, although chilly, went unfazed by one Elf. Legolas merely looked on, intent on his father's words, "Estel, and, "the time for his arriving grows nigh."

"Really?" he found himself asking, beyond bewildered by this suddenness, "It's just... so much to take in."

"I know you heard me correctly."

"Aye, but I thought you to jest."

"You do not know me very well."

Legolas stopped his inquisition instantly. His heartened emotions were slowly drifting away like the retreating tide. He couldn't decide whether to feel upset or uplifted.

"May I ask why he is visiting? Why the change in heart? What had stopped him before?"

"Business propositions nothing more," said Thranduil to the first question. "However, Lord Elrond has provided me with a small piece of information that you may enjoy. The human has fulfilled his destiny as healer. And it was you who convinced him to pursue that path."

Legolas looked up at this.

"How so?"

"When taken in, Estel wished to learn to love all things that grow and heal all that seemed lost. Your bond has dreamt that into reality. Meaning to connect with others and heal through compassion. He is a remarkable being, for a man."

The Thranduil took his leave, his footfalls growing fainter and fainter.

"Instead of joy, I am uncertain, Adar," Legolas whispered to himself. He found himself lost within an empty throne room, with naught but empty walls and thin shadows. Thranduil had departed.

Legolas headed in the direction of his chambers. Left to process the news, he felt energy course through his actions, igniting a fire within his heart.

Would an older Estel feel the same for him? Would he have changed?

He disappeared behind closed doors.

And sank to the cold floor, back leaning in support against the wall. Burying his face in his hands, he cried – in mixed happiness and confusion.

After all this time he had felt as if he were imprisoned behind palace walls. His soul bursting asunder. Making amends with his father was not quite enough. Legolas yearned for something more. And now Estel was to come, to interfere with things that were already astray; this could mean something good or something worse when it came to matter with his father.

O Valar. Why must fate make me suffer so? Why?

Once his fit had diminished, he rose and tended to his hair until it shone, unbraided at his sides, a curtain to mask his thoughts as his father did. He slipped into his lush tunic and breeches, and before he put on his doeskin boots, he inhaled a breath of relief.

Then, he headed out into the fullness that was day. Yearning peace, he scaled the first tree he laid eyes upon like a cat. He laid his head back and closed his eyes.

He evoked those joyous memories from the darkness of his inner lids: Estel's eagerness during their well-spent archery practice together. The boy's wild, flaming hair amidst ruggedness. Wide-eyed curiousity. Their lamented parting. Their brief meeting. Memories so vivid that he could summon it in his dreams if he wished. _Yes_, Legolas thought. _This was happiness he'd only evoked and ever evoke._

**oOo**

The dismal weather made the late afternoon seem like evening. Rain sprayed against Aragorn's locks, sending mud and grit everywhere. Perched high above a Rivendell courtyard statue, he looked upon the muggy horizon. Mirkwood's forest was a sliver of green over the long distance, nearly impossible to see.

Never was the day when he hadn't spent time thinking about his dear friend. Legolas had lain troubled whilst he had spent the past ten years content with his father. Yet nevertheless Aragorn still experienced longings on the Elf's account.

He heard low footsteps from behind. He turned as a fair voice addressed him:

"Aragorn! I bring word from Lord Elrond. He wishes to see you at once –"

Aragorn pivoted before Lindir, Elrond's most trusted companion, could finish. He knew exactly where his father was, for he had tracked him earlier under direct suspicion. He knew his father was hiding something. Leaping from his position, he clapped Lindir on the shoulder, and headed in the direction as to Elrond's whereabouts. The signature auburn robe and regal stance in the distance grew clearer as he neared.

"You sought me?" Aragorn asked the Noldor, "Is something the matter?"

"There is someone you must meet before departing. I believe it is about time, and it may enlighten you in some way." A warm smile crept upon the Lord's lips, but Aragorn could see a trace of secrecy lying 'neath the expression.

"Who my lord?"

"Come. And you shall see," said Elrond, beckoning him follow.

Aragorn nodded, and paced curiously after his father, boots resounding against the polished floor. But my lord, his mind raced, Legolas... Legolas... He calls for me. I must depart...

Upon arriving in a familiar part of the Rivendell where Aragorn would once wander, they headed to a door. Anticipation crawled 'neath Aragorn's skin.

"Meet my daughter."

Upon entering the room, Aragorn felt as if he'd strayed into a dream, perhaps someone else's not his own. Amidst the billowing folds of a teal mantle, an Elleth sat, upright by an open window, alerted from her tranquility with the sound of her father's voice. O, but she was a star in herself. Silken, dark hair outlined her lithe frame, falling past her breast. Startled at the sight of the intruder, she dropped the book she'd been reading, only to be swept up by Aragorn himself. He handed it to her with an awkward grace that failed to rival hers. The very room seemed to illuminate further with her smile.

And in the faint background, he heard Elrond saying, "You two have never crossed paths, for she has been visiting her grandmother during the past few years in Lórien."

"_Ada_, who might this be? I was not expecting a guest." Her eyes, wide oh so wide!, gazed at him in wonder. Her gaze enraptured him, making him nervous. Aragorn fought words.

Lord Elrond looked at him with the same pride directed at his daughter.

"My lady," Aragorn said with uttermost respect. He bowed once and took his hand in his. Aiding her to rise he first placed a chaste kiss upon her hand. He repeatedly wondered if he'd strayed into someone else's dream. "We have never met before. I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. And what might your name be?"

"Arwen Undomiel." She set the book aside elegantly. "So this is the man you speak so fondly of father."

"It was time, since Aragorn has come of age."

Aragorn retreated to a safe distance at this. Having forgotten Elrond was in the same room as they, he was taken aback as to what the Noldor was implying. Yes, she was beyond captivating (it would take a fool, and a stupid one, to say she was not!) but the occasion seemed rather... sudden. Too sudden.

"Er, we were departing for the Woodland. Thranduil himself has requested our presence," explained Lord Elrond. His face hardened at this, words graver with every passing second. "It seems the Prince is masking his true well-being and requires assistance from far more experienced healers, ere he falls ill." He motioned idly to Aragorn.

The Elleth looked as grave as her father. Aragorn had replayed those last words over and over, ever since receiving the news two hours past.

Did the Elf long for his presence as he did? Although it was oh so long ago that they had seen the other?

"Aragorn," came Arwen's honey-filled voice, "worrying for Legolas does naught to help. You must go to him."

"Yes, your words hold truth." His heart sank in sadness, as if setting aside this adventure would be the end. Arwen's smile said otherwise.

Aragorn relaxed as the Noldor and he left the Elleth to herself once more (not without her placing a kiss on each of their cheeks). Her beauty was simply enchanting; a breath of fresh misty air during the grey days of Spring rain. Now, only sorrow and grief seemed to await him. He shook his head at the thought.

No – he forced a smile – he would bear the pain for his friend and with his friend. Legolas needed him.

He only prayed that the danger Legolas was in could be stayed.

**oOo**

Legolas shuddered as wet leaves brushed against his bare skin, the downfall caressing his form like a sheet. When he could, he saw all around him a sea of dark green, ruffled here and there by the breeze, and there were everywhere hundreds of butterflies. His heart, that had been lightened by the sight of the faint sun and foliage, sank below the ground. He resisted the urge to climb down in despair.

O how time moved so slow.

Pondering whether Aragorn would remain the same in soul not body, Legolas nearly doubled over as something unexpected grabbed his shoulders, the veil of rain blurring his vision. What was happening? Where were his weapons when he needed them? His heart, tremulous in his chest, stopped for a few moments as everything cleared; and he found himself face to face with a man – a grinning one.

"What is this? An Elf caught off his gaurd?" The strange figure lowered his bow a fraction. He was clad in a simple mantle, and his long, wavy hair swept the top of his shoulders. The mud and grit upon his unshaven face seemed oddly familiar.

Estel? Estel!

"Point that thing away from me," growled Legolas once he caught his breath, "I never knew you to be a dangerous man," He held his hands up in submission. "You nearly caused my heart to stop."

"Nae saian luume'," the unshaved man said warmly. The human's eyes were a deep shade of copper, contrasting the green shade of his mantle.

The elf exhaled. He made wary eye contact with Estel, startled that before him was not a boy, but a muscular rugged man of adult features. Hands at his side, Legolas willed himself to resume his natural, regal appearance. Why was he worried? A warm flush crept up his neck, for he knew the answer yet passed it off as proper etiquette.

Legolas bowed his head. "Est—Aragorn, you look well." The words sounded much too simple. Tentatively, he moved closer.

Aragorn smiled and said, "Your beauty shines bright. And you may call me whatever you wish, my name matters little." He raised his knees up and lay his hands on top, as though interested in Legolas' mixed expression of fear, shock, and joy.

Their gazes lingered upon the other, perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

Aragorn held out his hand. "Have you missed me, _mellon-nin_?"

Legolas stared at it a second before reaching out to take it, sliding his hand over the larger man's warmer, calloused one. "More than you know," said Legolas under his breath. He could feel the man's pulse throbbing against his hand as if struggling to escape. The distinct scent of fresh Spring rain clung to the man's garb, indicating his hard travels here. Legolas instinctively pulled back, the shock that Estel was here making him incredibly nervous. The man mistook this for annoyance.

"Do I smell that bad?" Aragorn snorted.

"You have always smelt terrible."

Aragorn shook his head.

And on and one came the questions and exchanges, starting first with Legolas and his never ending tales of the forest, about how corrupted it seemed to grow; and Aragorn would counter, mentioning that at least the Realm was surrounded by forest whereas Rivendell mountains. Then Legolas would laugh at Aragorn's commitment to practicing Elvish, having been raised as Elrond's son. And they would reminisce about good o'l days past spent, of small boys and saddened Elves.

"You have a sword now I see," said Legolas, unsheathing it from the man's side by the hilt and sparring with air. And in exchange, Aragorn took Legolas' bow and an arrow from his quiver, pulling the string.

"Be-wary of my skills now, Elf. I'm not a child anymore, forgive me."

Legolas only sighed.

**oOo**

It was near dusk when a a voice – hard like cold metal – broke their chattering. The duo were barely aware of another's presence before Thranduil and Lord Elrond's faces were close enough to see their ancient sternness in their jaws. The Elvenking looked almost catlike, his eyes lazily half-closed, hands hidden amonst the folds of his robe; it was made clear how Legolas earned this. The Woodland line always so prone to dramatics, Thranduil brandished a command with one hand:

"Come down both of you please; you are disturbing the fauna."

Aragorn and Legolas landed at the feet of his Sires, and bowed with great reverence. "It is an honor to see you my lord," he said, regarding Thranduil, "again."

"And I you." There came an awkward silence thereafter, as though uncertain what and who to address.

"By your will, may Legolas show me to the palace?" asked Aragorn finally.

Thranduil seemed to diseregard this offer for a moment. However, he nodded his approval when Elrond gave him a glare of disapproval.

"Do not leave the walls again without my permission, lest you wish for things far worse than Spiders or Orcs."

Giving his Adar a look that said he would comply, Legolas led the man through winding paths and bracken, eager to display his home.

**oOo**

Upon the entrance to the enormous cavern, Aragorn could only gawk in awe; the stronghold was surrounded on all sides with forest, and the structure was magnificently built, otherworldly. As a person in his travels, he had seen many a sights similar to this, yet not entirely this secluded and mysterious. Mirkwood and the Realm, led by an Elf and his son who were even more so.

"The Woodland Realm," muttered Legolas, more to himself.

"For some time, I believed you to live above the trees, not underground like, like Dwarves. Or is this place meant to give the impression of such a place?"

Shooting the man a glower, Legolas said with pride, "My father inherited this palace, although hard, the structure unyielding to the outside world. It is a beautiful home, yet... These Elves have never lain eyes on the vastness beyond this kingdom. They know naught of the danger that lies therein." By the end of his statement, Legolas' pride had vanished replaced with distant recollection.

"And you do?"

Eyes shimmering with some unknown memory or mirth – Aragorn could not tell – Legolas smiled, a soft, rueful smile.

**oOo**

The windows had turned grey, a swelling mass of the tempest that would follow thereafter. Trekking through the caverns in simple exchanges, the man was halted by Legolas' turn in question. It was not merely a question, but the question:

"What is the real reason behind your meeting?"

Caught off guard at the demand, Aragorn said quickly, "Er, business nothing more – on Lord Elrond's order of course. Commerce is a necessity."

"You lack the skills to lie," Legolas countered.

"Well, I am a man am I not? I am human."

"I know you are far more observant than most," continued Legolas, "You know of this – graveness haunting me, do you not? That is the real reason my father sought both of you." His question was confirmed an answer when Aragorn refused to meet his gaze. "Bard sends the men to collects goods. That job is not your own."

"Yes, stammered Aragorn, "but are we not in relations with your kin as well?"

"What have you been doing all these years."

"Peace, my friend. I would have loved to visit, but other... matters delayed my hopes." Legolas felt as though the man was masking something; he'd always prided himself in detecting a lie, yet in this case it was Aragorn who was absolutely terrible at it. "And also Elrond wishes me to marry an Elleth now that I am of twenty years (and though I would not admit it, I am uncertain).

"Ah, I see." Legolas' ran his hands through his unbraided tresses. "Your loyalties lie with your father's wishes, not your own." He looked away, past sorrow clouding his mind. "You favor your duty ahead of others who have missed you dearly." Aragorn started at this yet closed his mouth when Legolas said, "I could not visit; Thranduil is my reason. What is yours? Do you not understand how much I've missed you – your presence. You could've written, could've sent couriers, could've come yourself."

"Nay, I was... in training."

"For what?" scoffed Legolas.

"Never mind, listen. You are changed, dispirited if I might say. Do not speak ill of my decisions." He laid a hand upon the Elf's shoulder. "I am here, now, to help you, not to cause more harm."

Shame budded upon Legolas' cheeks like an efflorescence. It was but the tone of his old friend that shattered his heart to pieces, not the reasoning behind it. He knew his friend was right, yet the words uttered from someone so near bit more than any whip he could endure.

"_Amin-hiraetha_," said Aragorn. And upon realizing his iron hold upon the Elf he lessened it and bowed his head. "I would never wish to harm you, I have missed us, everything."

"Aye, I'm apologize for growing upset," said Legolas, "It's just that, all these years... not even once did you try to reach me." Without giving the man a chance to explain what Legolas already knew, he moved past, returning to his reserved state. "Your room is there," was his final word before he gestured to a doorway in the shadows, and left.

He exited the hall, making way toward the grand ascension of a staircase. He wished to report to his father the success at Aragorn's arrival. Even though he could not see the man's concern, he could feel Aragorn's strong gaze burning a hole in his back as he departed, blazing fierce.

**oOo**

Legolas halted just outside a room used for council (having heard his father's unequaled voice earlier emanating from here) and he peered through the ajar door. There came faint murmurs and he pieced them together with moving mouths as he watched the two figures pace back and forth. Lord Elrond and Thranduil. The room was vacant save for them.

"Your presence is appreciated," said Thranduil, "The years have done nothing much to improve. He reminds me too much of her that it causes me grief. My son's consolation lessens my worry, but I can't quite understand Legolas enlivening at the mention of Estel. It's simply 'neath him. For what can that – that child of a mere 10 years provide for him what I cannot?"

Legolas fell himself sink through the floor.

"Well, before you reprimand my son as lowly as you say, he is a healer, " said Elrond, "End. And some advice for you – regarding your uneasiness with your son – you could start by telling him of your past. Tell him of your encounter with the serpents of the North. Tell him of what you witnessed at the battle of Dagorland. Tell him, explain to him of the queen's death—"

"Do not speak of her!" Thranduil snarled. Hands clenching too tight 'round his staff, his face was filled with ire and unexplainable emotion. He seemed to be shaking. And then the left side of his face diminished, the remnants of a spell revealing grotesque burns of grisly scarlet, tendons, and bone 'neath fair skin. In the light of the candles, pale and towering, Thranduil was horrifying.

Legolas could not withhold the cry of alarm that followed. Nor could he help his staggering backward. Startled, he wondered: What in the Valar happened to his father's face? Why did Lord Elrond seemed unfazed by it? The Rivendell did naught, simply shaking his head in bitter resentment.

And through fairway eyes, Legolas watched as his father threw open the door.

"Legolas..."

"I was just coming to report to you—" he dithered, unable to comprehend what he'd just witnessed, "I-I..."

Thranduil and Elrond exchanged a glance. He looked at the ground.

"What, exactly, have you heard?" said Thranduil in a deathly, low voice, "How long were you there?—" And then, as though remembering his appearance, he instinctively covered his wound with quivering hands; it vanished with phantom-like qualities. Had he witnessed his father like this often, Legolas would have simply spun on his heel and gone back to his room. But it was not this case. He thought he had a chance, to console his King in this impassive state that there was an explanation.

"Adar, please," he found himself begging.

"Ego. I do not care for whatever you have to say. Sii'! You have heard and seen too much."

"Have you gone mad?" Legolas took a step closer then. His hand hovering an inch above his father's shoulder, he tried to catch his gaze despite his fear. But Thranduil repelled even the nuance, and instead snatched him firmly by the wrist, causing Legolas to step back in recoil.

He'd proven wrong,

again.

Thranduil withdrew. Legolas and Lord Elrond remained, and as the Elvenking spun once on his heel, he said:

"Ere you lay your eyes upon me, you will have known that this – a tremulous hand raised to his face – defines me."

And then he shut his door with an echoing bang.

Legolas swallowed back a choke.

Elrond looked to him, worry emanating off his features. Legolas did not look at his father's door nor Lord Elrond. He looked down. His mind drifted to another place. He became distorted, barely conscious that he was running away from the accursed place, shouldering Elven sentries; and when they turned and called, he did not answer them.

He was so unfocused that he nearly missed Aragorn.

The man was languidly sharpening his sword near the armory. Intent on his blade, he seemed not to notice the Elf until Legolas flashed a sad smile. Then, as though sensing Legolas' perturbation, Aragorn stopped his work and waved him over.

"What troubles you?"

"I just endured the King's ire," he said softly.

"That is no good," said Aragorn, reaching out with his spare hand, "and what gives him the right to drown his son with more grief?" At this, Legolas shuddered off the man's grasp. And when the man turned briefly to lay down his sword, Legolas walked quickly back to his chambers. He did not wish to bother Aragorn (yet again) with his musings.

Upon entering his room, a wave of relief washed through him, ebbing the pain. He walked past his bed, past his wardrobe bearing the symbols of Mirkwood, and unto the balcony. He grasped the edges of the rail. Rain painted tears upon his face. If he were a painting, he would be a watercolored mess; his hair and clothes, damp with the cascade, embraced him like a second skin. Water coursed upon his frame, leaving a trail of cold behind.

He looked on, unseeing. Within his chest, something stirred. Focusing his attention on this, he could only imagine an old enemy awakening from the dead.

"Legolas. Legolas Greenleaf."

At the utterance of his name, he closed his eyes and exhaled. Tears burned his eyes, but he stubbornly held them back. Then he unclosed them.

Awaiting his vision was a man, mere inches from him, hopeful smile upon his face. "Ah, you're alive," came the tease,"This really was not how this day was supposed to end."

"Not in the slightest."

"There are times of pain in everyone's life, yet there is one ray of light to guide you and something to warm you like hot tea. I am that light, _mellon-nin_."

Legolas could not help a laugh. He felt like Legolas Greenleaf once again. "It seems that someone has been spending their time wisely," he said, "Your wisdom will be taken for granted."

Aragorn bowed in mock reverence. "Anything for you, Prince of Mirkwood. I am here of you need me."

"How could you be of use to me?" teased Legolas.

He watched the rain bathed he and his companion in its wake. He pondered as to how the wrath of his father would come into play later. He thought of Tauriel. He thought of Aragorn. Dear friend, I am glad you have come, truly glad. Tenna' tul're san'. Turning so that he could face the disheveled man, he smiled, imitating his father by brandishing his hand in order. And he smirked, the expression strange upon his face, "Actually, hot tea would be nice."

Aragorn snickered.

The two persons stood side by side on the balcony, with the pitter-patter of rainfall as a lull to wash away the dark.

* * *

Nae saian luume - It has been too long

Amin-hiraetha - I'm sorry

Daro - Stop

Tenna' tul're san' - Until tomorrow then

Ego - Leave

Sii' - Now


	18. Chapter 18

**Note: Haven't updated in a long while, but thanks for all the comments and reads! I really appreciate it!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 18: BRANDED**

The world may end in fire, or in ice

Like dancing daffodils, or many layers of cold

Fire in the heavens

And fire in the hills

Frost that covers earth

And frost that covers life

But the destruction of both is great

And we may never know

Of which is greater

Night had fallen, with cold winds and the threatening sound of a thunderstorm.

Inside his room, Legolas looked to his left. Aragorn was sprawled on the smooth floor at the edge of his bed, tightly gripping the sheets Legolas had reluctantly lent him. His eyes were shut, hands behind his head, heavy breathing indicating he was asleep within the world of dreams.

Earlier, Aragorn had offered to stay. When the prince refused, Aragorn snorted and did so anyway, not tolerating such unwelcoming behavior.

_My, what a stubborn man_, the elf reflected. He tapped his chin, lost in the maze of the mind. Uneasiness crept into the pit of his stomach at what his father would say if he found Aragorn in his room. He shuddered. His father's disfigurements was all that came to mind. The image of the sickening disappearance of skin replaced by bone and tendons where skin ought to be was surreal.

An instant rumbling noise from Aragorn's direction gained immediate attention of the elf. Shaking his head, Legolas realized that the man had not eaten upon arrival. He leapt over his bed agilely and bent so that he was nearly ground level. "Awaken, your stomach is making quite a large amount of noise," he informed the man.

Aragorn grumbled, torn between sweet bliss and a pestering elf. He opened one eye and swatted away the hands that bothered him so. "What hour is it?"

Legolas glanced outside and saw that rain was cascading from the darkened sky. It was nearly impossible to tell. Having been lost, he could not distinguish how long had passed since his banishment. Not wanting to sound daft, he answered: "It is simply time to rise... Come."

"Until you answer, nay I will not," came the barely distinctive response.

Legolas sighed, threading his fingers through his hair. Ah, of course! Bribery was always an option – one that required a great amount of effort when dealing with Aragorn.

"Would you care for food and drink?" He asked. Thinking hard, he added, "How does heading down to the kitchens sound? Perhaps they'll have—"

The human did not respond, much to the growing irritation of the elf. He was clumsily entangled with the sheets, and gave the elf a fierce glower that could melt steel before returning to slumber. Legolas accepted defeat and went about his business. A slight envy, however, plagued him.

Over the long years he had not experienced relaxation. The sinister troubles of the days would instead overtake his lithe body during the lonely hours, tormenting him every time his eyes shut. Elves rarely slept, and when they did it was for leisure or rest.

And he could find neither.

**oOo**

In the tranquil, dark atmosphere of his private chambers, the Elvenking was lost within the day's heavy toils. As he shed his heavy outer robes and ornate flower crown into the hands of attending servants, he also cast off his undesired thoughts, yearning for solitude. He sat on his chair of carven wood, distractedly thrumming his fingers against the armrest. Chin to the ceiling, he dismissed those who wished to provoke his inattentive state with the flick of his fingers.

He poured himself a glass of wine and drowned in its seductive tang - sweet like the flowers of Spring, and just as sinful. His spacious chambers were located in a part of the palace where those he ruled seldom ventured, exculding his son who wandered the serene corridors. Only he knew, only he wished to ignore, the nostalgic footfalls heard, light to a man yet thunderous to the ears of an elf. The endless pacing of a lost elf: his son.

Thranduil twisted his silky air around one finger, mind somewhere far off. He knew a grave shadow grew in his heart, pulsed from his scar; such repulsiveness was a curse, one he had deserved for his... _weakness._

The quiet was suddenly pierced by a stiff knock at the door, and with a hushed, "You may enter," he was barely taken aback as his son entered the room. The young elf had traded his daily attire with a teal tunic, a more casual garb.

Thranduil fixed Legolas with a mirroring stare, not moving from where he sat. "Legolas, what brings you here of all places? This indeed a strange occurence, and one certainly filled with purpose. What ails you today of all times?"

Hands clasped behind his back, Legolas sighed. "I have something to discuss with you." A flash of sorrow across his face. "It is not as important as... my... you know, but instead concerns you—"

"Ah, I see."

At this, Thranduil rose from his seat and strode across the room. A flash of memory. Flames. The Elvenking was lost.

_Do not talk to me of Dragon fire. I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North._

_"Father...?"_ A voice that sounded very far away called to him.

"You wish to know," Thranduil replied. It was not a question, but a statement. "Follow."

Son trailing his footsteps, he twisted through his secretive dwelling, ending up by the ledge that hung over his extensive domain. Seen from above, the red hue of leaf covered the branches that snaked the earth.

Thranduil's eyes resided on his son's face, so ethereal compared to his wicked burns.

"I-I apologize for snapping earlier," he said slowly. "Yet even so... you fail to even begin to understand what you have seen, what curses me. He paused and tapped his carven oak staff against the floor. "Come closer and view the realm you have flourished in – his voice dipped lower – and let me share a piece of my mind."

"Yes, my lord," Legolas replied, unable to refuse this rare occasion. Standing next to his Adar, he overlooked the vast sea of crimson. From where he stood the shade of red took on a distinct scarlet that rivaled the colour of blood or cherry wine, but the heavily lightened areas shone with a more mystical tone: of fire. Even further still was the Lonely Mountain. In contrast to the burning trees it seemed as desolate as ever.

**oOo**

_F.A. 545_

_"Outflank them!" A warrior shouted above the sound of battle. Elves, Men, Dwarves, and Valar fought, weapons clanging against weapon as they clashed with the Orcish hordes of Morgoth. Vorced rose among battle sounds, shouting in uncertainty:_

_"We have no choice! Hope dwindles!"_

_"The enemy, my lord, they advance!"_

_"Surely you can hold them back a bit longer?"_

_The sound of a sharp movements through the air – the drip of a seeping wounds. _

_And then... silence. _

_..._

_..._

_The murky haze of night parted like a curtain. Slithering through the tufts of grass stood tall a dragon of immense size. __The serpent made it's appearance known with a gleeful hiss. Its wings were those of an overly large bat, teeth and claws like steel, and its rough hide – scales like diamonds – near impenetrable._

_Close. The smell of ash. Closer. The screech of claw upon earth._

_Prince Thranduil looked on from the side of battle, willing himself with every ounce of strength not to rush full-forced into battle after his father. __A rippling shudder crept upward from his spine to shoulders_. _The only words that spilled from the young elf's mouth was a short cry, full of alarm and despair:_

_"Oropher!"_

_The dragon neared._

_Driven back, the King of the Woodland Realm turned his head, eyes searching the vast plain for his son. But Oropher was lost, disappearing behind the swarming army._

_The ultimate weapon of Sauron was unleashed; it's terrifying charisma sent the armies quaking with fear. An encounter with such a Firedrake was a rare occasion, and one not wanted at this time__._

_"You dare you call for your own father? How pathetic and low can one stoop?" The serpent hissed. It had found it's prey. It slithered hither thither, tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air._

_"Come any closer and your vile head will rest on your shoulders no longer," Thranduil growled. "Please, be my guest of honor. Come nearer – I dare you..." He raised his sword for emphasis but the creature only roared in laughter. Before the serpent could recover, Thranduil gave a running start._

_"Why do you flee?" The dragon seethed. "Death evades those who hide but not those who run." The serpent slithered tauntingly after him, easily cutting the long grass before crouching low and blocking his escape route._

_The beast snarled in triumph and it's jaws widened as large as could manage. Lines of razor sharp teeth encircled the cave-like mouth._

_The young elf recoiled, his face cringing in pure terror. No! He stopped breathing as panic clenched his heart._

_The monster's underside glowed a fiery lava and its' stomach rumbled with repeated tremors. A red glare of fire pulsed from it's stomach to throat._

_It was then that the Prince looked into the blistering fires of Morgoth. He came face to face with his demise._

_Flames. An infestation of heat. The scorching fire clawed and teared like a beast in itself, engulfing his face into its intense wake. A searing pain blighted his side whilst he evaded the direct attack. He recoiled into silence, senses eroded beyond fear._

_"I will bring thee to your knees, O mighty prince. Quiver in fear! I allow it, for I am king now," the dragon cackled._

_"Ngh..." He was hardly aware that his hands were twitching, concealing his marred face – or what was left of it. His fingers overflowed with hot liquid, the scent of burnt flesh filling his nostrils and burning his lungs. His hands desperately tore pieces of charred skin, and it fell to the ground like fluttering feathers. He was tumbling in and out of shadow, smoke billowing throughout his organs._

_It was a nightmare. Unreal. Perhaps an illusion of the dark that had conspired from the experience of war._

_It was only then did he realize he was screaming. It frightened him more than anything. He could not see – was blind... Oropher? What had happened to the familiar tune of the war horns? Everything sounded like chaos... He could hear screams, the roar of the dragon, and the wicked cackle of flames._

_"No... No..."_

_Only then did he realize this was truth. War..._

_The dragon hovered_ a_bove, lapping up all the pain Thranduil emanated with a satanic grin. Baring its teeth, it descended from the sky with such velocity._

_The battle was nearly won._

_As though they were a kind of wild__life, the flames __crept over the battle plain_—

**oOo**

"And?" Legolas pressed with interest. His father's eyes had taken on a faraway quality, unnerving in their depthless unblinking.

"And—nothing," Thranduil murmured, biterness evident. "Oropher returned with roughly a third of his army due to the advance of Morgoth and his followers," he stated. "The War of Wrath; it was such a battle that even the most valiant of our kin cowered in fear.

Legolas resisted the urge to ask if that included his father. However, he already knew th answer, and pursed his lips.

"With all due respect, why did you choose to inform me of this now?"

"_Ah_, well you are no longer an elfling and I believed it would help you come to... trust me better?" Thranduil said, leaving it as a question.

With concern, Legolas skeptically reached out. Remembering earlier, a pit of fear enlarged in his stomach and he paused momentarily. Through stolen glances, he examined the Elvenking's smooth complexion with uncertainty. And then, deciding against his fear, brushed away the citron hair with grace. "Illusion? How do you see out of your left eye?"

"I don't," Thranduil simply responded. His own hands rose his face, but then lowered it as if such an act was torture. "The truth becomes visible when the spell wanes, or in other terms when I choose – " Words vanished when Legolas's hand made contact with his cheek. It was a light brush, a curious inquisition.

Thranduil instinctively took a step back; shock was written across his features. "Do not lay a hand on me," he threatened vaguely, jaw clenched. "Captain."

Legolas flinched at the word, the strong title resurfacing old memories.

"Go. This... _tale_ has ended," Thranduil dismissed. "Now," he added more forcefully.

Although they had grown fairly close, Legolas quietly acknowledged that he had forgotten his place and gone much too far. He forced his legs to walk away, and did not look back. His father had once again managed to hold his inner walls of defense. But before he had fled the room, he said, "So, this is all a tale to you... A child's story of dragons and brilliant swordsman?" Legolas's blue eyes were a shimmering pool, whether it was because of sadness or pity he did not know.

"It is not a story father – it's a nightmare."

Without giving his king a chance to counter, he spun on his heel and headed out the door.

**oOo**

It was getting late, so Legolas shook off his thoughts and returned to his room; but upon realizing Aragorn had not stayed put - he never could - he headed out and approached one of the gaurds outside.

"My lord, he headed out into the forest," the dark-haired elf said, noticing the prince's mixture of confused bewilderment. "We could not refuse, for he gave orders that it was you who had instructed him to do so."

Biting the inside of his cheek to stop a bitter remark, Legolas sprinted out into the grey morning. Wild rain, a mixture of water and wind, tore at the folds of his tunic. Rumbling issued from overhead and his searching grew more desperate as time wore on.

Straying from the path, he eventually found who he sought, for the stirring of leaves above-head gave the man away. A low chuckle and a soft, "hullo," gave him the confirmation that the man, his friend, was not hurt.

"_So_, the Prince of Mirkwood himself has shown up. I was beginning to fear that you had forgotten me," Aragorn pouted and brushed away a wet piece of hair plastered to his face. "Did you worry for me?"

The drenched man was seated several yards above ground level in a wet leafy canopy, a secret place from prying eyes. His simple mantle was wrapped around him several layers as though conserving what little heat his body radiated. However, the clothing failed to fulfill its purpose, for the man was shivering.

"_Auta miqula orqu_," Legolas teased. "Why are you out in the rain?" He noted that the man was shivering, precipitation the cause.

"The storm has abated and I recall being left alone in an empty room with no food or water to cease my needs. It is in my nature to wander," Aragorn laughed, tracing an indent on a branch overhead. "Did you spend your hour with your father well?" The man asked after a short silence. "_Hama sinome_."

Legolas took the offer and nimbly scaled the tree, shook his head, and sprayed even more water every which way. Rearranging his position, he leaned on Aargorn's damp back, drawing his legs up. He felt a shiver run up the man's spine, whether the action or the horrid cold the cause. "He spoke to me of how he faced many a foe and witnessed the rise of evil."

"You should be grateful. The King thinks highly of you," Aragorn said, slight rancor evident in his tone.

"I suppose he does his best..." Legolas trailed off, watching the reddened leaves swirling in response to the strong winds in distraction of the upringing of his father.

An long period of silence passed, but not one that need be filled with words. They were content in each other's presences.

Unable to supress the knowledge he had known for days on end, Aragorn said: "I have been observing the creeping shadows among the brush. Evil draws nearer and nearer. Although the last alliance with Dwarves, Men, and Elves proved in our favour, the incoming danger may not."

"So you are finally opening your eyes," Legolas reponded with a heavy heart. He stood, mood darkened. The blackened sky suppressed the urge to part and let the heavy storm descend. Climbing even higher, he popped out from the trees like a flower in bloom and scoured the land.

Livid strikes of moving shadows.

Aragron was right - his eyes flashed a cold blue - dark things had manifested in all things that were bright, all things that were good; and he could not help the horrid thought that it would always be like this.

After a long silence, Aragorn's voice called up to him. "What do you s—"

The sudden sound of squeaking mud against boot alerted the keen elf, and he tore his eyes from the obscure sight of furtive shadows. Immediately, he looked down to see a flailing Aragorn falling, hands oustretched as if to grab onto the branches and leaves that surrounded him. Aragorn!

Legolas dived like a bird in descend after his friend. His stomach was left above the treetops, and within seconds he had clasped a slippery branch for support, and the other Aragorn's hand.

"Why must trouble always find you?" He said, half in pity and half meant to tease.

Suspended in midair, a scowl formed on Aragorn's lips, envious of the amount of vitality the elf posessed.

"T-Thank you," he said, calming his hammering heart with deep exhales. "Where would I be without you?" His face was shining with amazement, something that stirred the elf's heart as they locked eyes.

Unable to answer, Legolas grunted as he pulled his friend up to his level, gripping him by the front of his garment. Aragorn shook his hand free and shook the water from his face; the two stood panting for several seconds. The man raised his mantle to cover the elf's glistening body but halted and instead crossed his arms.

"My, you ruined my clothing," the man said as he discovered a tore in his sleeve. His fingers ran through the rip, unlacing the stitching more, thread by thread, revealing the tan skin hidden beneath.

"You ungrateful fool," Legolas retorted, scrunching up his nose for emphasis. "You could have fallen."

"_Ah_, but I didn't." His words danced around his tongue like a singsong tune. "You would never let someone as useful as—"

A torn gasp. Legolas unexpectedly pushed the man's chest, in mild irritation, tipping the helpless human yelling, "Legolaaaaassss..." off the branch where they resided. Aragorn reached out for anything, anything to grasp, but his fingers caught naught but air and wet leaves.

Basking in his empowerment, Legolas finally gripped the flailing man close by the arm. leaving red marks. "You were saying?" A grim smirk. "But yea, you are correct. Be more cautious, a man cannot fly through trees half as much as an elf."

Aragorn spun to see the elf a few yards higher among the foliage, cheeky grin on his beautiful face. "_Mankoi_ _lle uma tanya_? That was dirty," he growled, among deep breaths and trying to work out the quickest way to end the elf's life. Finally deciding on his move, he aimed a fist at the elf.

Legolas evaded the blow easily, and was lost deep in thought.

"Aragorn?"

"Hmm... ?"

"How long until you return to Imladris?" The elusive elf changed the subject into one that suddenly startled the man into a state of deep concern.

After a couple thoughtful seconds, Aragorn finally smiled sadly, and fixed his eyes on the cloudy sky. "Until Spring ends," he said, "but until then I have time to teach you how to hone your skills in the art of battle." A playful grin had spread across his face.

Legolas leapt down, barely making contact with the coarse, slick earth. "You dare challenge me? I, the feared Prince and Captain of the most formidable warriors?"

"Sparring is one of my strongest skills," Aragorn sniggered. Before the prince could lash out with another retort, he swiftly collected water into his mantle. And with a playful splash, he deposited it onto the elf's signature silver hair.

With an astounded cry of, "Aragorn!" Legolas was completely engulfed with water.

"Let us return. The storm has yet to brew," Aragorn spat quickly, and sprinted towards the dry stronghold.

Legolas, astonishment written all over his features, could only laugh at his soaked state and shook his disarrayed hair, letting the water drip down his body. "I am coming." As though he were an elfling, he grinned joyfully and his dabbled face brightened, illuminating the murky glade. Smoothing out his ruined clothing, he followed, leaving this secret spot by way of the trees. He needed to check security, to inform them of the mysterious intruders who threatened their home, but casting it aside for the moment couldn't do much harm.

And what about his father?

Glancing upward, he was startlingly met with his King still on the high ledge. His crown of Woodland flowers was nowhere to be seen, only high cheekbones and eyes so infernally colored that it glinted frost deep within their sockets. The Elvenking stared back with fiery disapproval, and if looks could burn, Legolas would be a pile of ash. Less than a heartbreak, their connection was lost, and the king strode away into the cavern of his realm.

_He controls my actions but not my heart_, Legolas thought again with strange resentment. He bit his lip. Or does he? _Detholalle..._

Eyes residing on Estel awaiting his presence, he halted. He considered reporting to his _Adar_, but his recklessness chose his decision for him.

Infected with excitement, the prince hastily fled after the wild-haired Aragorn. His father could wait. He left feelings, thoughts, and the world of reason far behind.

**oOo**

Many miles from the Woodland Realm, on the opposite hills a solitary spectator had watched the rise and the lull of the tempest, a fierce figure who dwelt among the tombs on the mountain-side.

The banishment of the dark lord grew like a poison in his dark heart over the years. He had been watching and waiting. Brooding, like a dragon over gems; for a fierce envy had taken hold of him, one directed toward many.

Ten years ago, when his Orc army retreated in defeat, he had disposed of them. Seething with a boiling item he cursed his own creations: Rhogdul, Bolg, and Azog for having fallen at the hands of the enemy. He cursed the kings of Arda for his loss at Erebor, swearing vengeance for all the pain and humiliation that had been brought upon him.

The desire for vengeance consumed him like a plague. Burning like a furnace with newfound fire, he found and served once again as a servant of Sauron (the dark lord had shown him mercy). And now, an opportune moment seemed to arrive. All he had to do now was wait. Patience held deepest rewards, and then it would be time for them to pay: in blood.

Bitter flames of the past rose from a spark, an ignition to consume and devour those who strayed from their path.

And he had the honor of lighting the torch.

* * *

Auta miqula orqu - Go kiss an Orc

Hama sinome - Take a seat

Mankoi lle uma tanya - Why did you do that?

Detholalle - Your choice

**Note: **Wow, I'm so behind on writing *laughs sheepishly* To those who are still reading and are awaiting the next chapter, it should be up this week... hopefully. No promises though... I procrastinate and have finals :( Anyways stay safe, stay healthy. Toodles!

DefyingDeath


End file.
